


for here you are, standing there, loving me

by chloeburgis



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Alternate Universe - Nanny, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Alternate Universe - The Sound of Music Fusion, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles You Slut, Erik Has Feelings, Erik has Issues, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is a Father, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, dadneto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 14:51:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 70,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7226914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chloeburgis/pseuds/chloeburgis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is a brilliant grad student, at Columbia on a full-ride. But his scholarship doesn't cover rent or the other necessities of living, so when his mother finally cuts him off, he is well and truly fucked. Enter emotionally distant father Erik Lehnsherr, in need of a live-in nanny for his seven adopted children. Who have driven off the eleven previous nannies. And who are all highly powerful mutants. Really, how hard can it be?</p><p>Or, the modern day The Sound of Music AU no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I must be addicted to mothering fic (see my accidental baby acquisition Miraculous Ladybug fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6552016/chapters/14989966)). Also, I really couldn't help myself. I was watching X-Men: Apocalypse a few weeks ago and just couldn't stop thinking, _This is literally the sappiest, most romantic tribute to Cherik I have ever seen. It's like a big gay Jewish monument, oh my god._
> 
> So, I fic'd. Forgive me.
> 
> Unbeta-ed. All mistakes are mine!
> 
> Everyone's ages, for convenience's sake:
> 
> Erik - 33  
> Charles - 24
> 
> Raven - 17  
> Hank - 17  
> Angel - 16  
> Darwin - 16  
> Sean - 15  
> Jean - 13  
> Peter - 10
> 
> Alex - 17  
> Scott - 14

**_1\. how do you solve a problem like seven mutant children_ **

“What happened _this_ time?”

Erik Lehnsherr was not a man easily intimidated. He had seen far too many horrors in this world to ever be truly intimidated. However, at this moment, staring down an irate Moira MacTaggart, her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flaring, he felt just the slightest twinge of concern. He steadied himself - best to get it over with - and said, in his crispest tones, “Angel tried to set the nanny on fire.”

For a moment, Erik was actually afraid that Moira would explode. She pressed her lips together so hard they turned white, and her hands balled up into tight fists. She closed her eyes, bracing her elbows against the desk. “Are you telling me,” she said, eyes still shut, “that your sixteen-year-old daughter - ”

“Oh, she didn’t succeed,” said Erik quickly. “She burned the bed, but that’s about it, really.”

Moira opened her eyes and threw her hands up. “You’re impossible,” she said accusingly. “At least tell me Ms. Perkins is all right.”

“Nothing but smoke inhalation. I rushed her to the emergency room. She won’t be pressing charges. She says she’s sure Angel didn’t mean it,” said Erik, almost projecting an aura of boredom. It was a speech Moira had heard before. This wasn’t the first nanny that had fled the Lehnsherr household. “Nevertheless, she has requested termination of her employment, effective immediately.”

“Oh, Erik,” said Moira, shaking her head. “At this rate, your children will be too old for a nanny by the time we’ve found you a suitable one.”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation - _again_ , I might add - if you’d just get me a mutant,” Erik replied accusingly. “I should be leaving my children with _our_ kind, not humans.” He spit out the word ‘human’ the way another would say ‘cockroach’.

Moira raised an eyebrow derisively. “Oh, and how many mutants do you know are in the childcare business?” she retorted. Then, her eyes widened. “Although…” she murmured, half to herself. “I could give Charles a call…”

“Charles?” Erik repeated. “Good on you, hiring male nannies. Very gender inclusive,” he said dryly.

“Got anything against male nannies?”

“I haven’t had any luck with female nannies, I don’t see why a male one should be any different.”

“Charles isn’t actually one of my nannies,” said Moira. “He’s an old friend - uh, an ex, actually, but we stayed in touch.”

Erik hid a smirk. Moira had famously bad luck in the relationship department, but had managed to remain friends with all her old flames. Well, Erik thought, hers was a much preferable outcome of a breakup compared to what had happened to him and Magda -

He stopped that train of thought right in its tracks. He hadn’t thought of Magda in years, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“He’s from up in Westchester, but he’s in the city to finish his master’s degree. His second, actually!” Moira added proudly. “He’s a bit of a child prodigy, finished college when he was only seventeen - oh, Erik, I think you’ll like him, he’s brilliant!”

“He sounds it,” said Erik agreeably. “But I fail to see what this has to do with me and my children?”

“Charles is from one of those old, wealthy families. And his mother’s had it up to here with him ‘not participating in the family business’,” she said, crooking her fingers into air quotes. “She’s cut him off, so he’s looking for a job.”

“I’m not about to entrust my children to the care of some spoiled brat of a human who needs extra spending money,” Erik sneered.

Moira laughed. “Oh, you’ll _love_ this,” she said. “Charles is a mutant. He majored in microbiology in college, then got his first master’s degree in genetics, with an emphasis on the X-gene. He’s now working on another master’s in mutant child education. He’s worked at a mutant daycare facility before, and he’s helped work on integrating mutant development classes - honing their abilities, learning self-control, that sort of thing - into public schools.”

Erik’s eyebrows flew up. “Impressive,” he said. “And his mother doesn’t approve?”

“No.”

“She’s an idiot.”

“Yes, I think so too,” said Moira grimly. “Anyway, shall I give Charles a call?”

Erik thought for a moment. He wanted a mutant nanny, and now here was Moira offering him one. Surely a mutant could handle his children better than a human could. He certainly couldn’t be any worse. “All right,” he said. “I’ll take him on.” _I’m desperate_ , was left hanging at the end of his sentence.

“Got it,” said Moira, whipping out her phone. “When should I tell him to be there?”

“Tomorrow morning is fine, if he’s not busy. Oh, and what did you say his mutation was?”

“I didn’t,” said Moira, tapping out a text message. “He’s a telepath.”

 

*

 

The Lehnsherr residence in Bronxville was a pretty white Colonial with a gray roof and a wraparound porch, surrounded by a carefully maintained garden and a towering wrought iron fence. The family had arrived from Germany a little over ten years ago, and had quickly established themselves in the community. There were seven children, ranging in age from prepubescent to adolescent. Their father, Erik Lehnsherr, was clearly from old European money, if the ease with which he purchased their new palatial home was anything to judge by. Nevertheless, he didn’t seem to be resting on his laurels - or the laurels of his vastly wealthy ancestors, rather. He was an engineer, the gossips soon found out, with Frost Industries, a top-tier firm in Manhattan.

Behind closed doors and cupped hands, however, the neighbors snidely referred to the house as the Mutant Manor. Seven children, and all of them _freaks_. And Mr. Lehnsherr himself the worst of them, and utterly unapologetic about it too. No wonder poor Mrs. Lehnsherr had left, they remarked, reveling in the _schadenfreude._

Raven, the oldest of the Lehnsherr brood, stood at her bedroom window, keeping an eye out for their father’s car. They were, she knew, in deep shit. But that nanny had had it coming. She couldn’t just say those things about their family and get away with it.

“Any sign of Dad yet?” Angel swept into Raven’s room, two fingers touching her temple. It was their way of focusing their minds when they were in telepathic contact with Jean. “Kinda nervous here, not gonna lie.”

“Don’t be,” said Raven, frowning. “That bitch deserved it.”

Angel nodded. “You’re preaching to the choir,” she said. “We should’ve gone with my original plan.”

Raven hid a smirk. Angel had a mean streak a mile wide. She’d suggested that Raven transform into Ms. Perkins’ boyfriend and break up with her publicly. When Darwin, forever the voice of reason, vetoed that idea, Angel had lost her temper, stormed off to Ms. Perkins’ room, and used one of the acidic projectiles she produced in her mouth. That was when the bed caught fire.

The sound of metal moving alerted both girls to what they were waiting for. They looked out Raven’s window and saw the gates opening, and Erik’s car coming up the driveway. Angel’s eyes narrowed, her fingers pressing harder against her temple, and Raven knew she was informing Jean - and by extension, the others - of their father’s arrival.

They fled from Raven’s room and into the dining room. Sean and Darwin were setting the table. Hank, Jean, and Peter came in from the kitchen, beaming. Several dishes were floating above their heads, emitting the fragrant smells of dinner.

“Clever,” said Raven, plucking one dish out of the air. “Good idea, Jean.”   

“Yeah, well, with Peter messing around, it was necessary,” said Jean, sticking her tongue at her brother.

“I wasn’t messing around!” Peter protested. “If you’d just let me, I could have had all this ready a lot faster.”

“For the last time,” said Hank warningly, “you’re not allowed to use your superspeed in the kitchen. Get that through your head. _Don’t_ ,” he added, when Peter’s face got that familiar mulish look on it, the one that suggested he was about to run, “even think about it.”

“You’re all no fun.” 

“Dad’s on a short fuse as it is,” said Jean. “We’re trying to head him off, not make him angrier.”

“Done,” said Darwin, once he and Sean finished setting the table. “What do you think?”

“Nice job, boys,” said Raven approvingly. She directed Angel and Hank to grab the dishes still levitating above Jean and arrange them prettily in the center of the table. By the time Erik walked in, perpetual scowl fixed to his face, his children were all arranged around the dinner table, smiling innocently up at him.

“Hello, Dad,” they all chorused.

“Don’t give me that,” said Erik ominously, setting down his coat and briefcase on the nearby sideboard. “You’re all in deep trouble for what you’ve done today.”

“What _we’ve_ done?” said Sean, outraged. “It was Angel that - ow!” he yelped. Apparently Darwin seated next to him, had stomped on his foot.

“Yes,” said Erik, taking his seat at the head of the table, “it was Angel that set Ms. Perkins on fire. But I know none of you did anything to stop her,” he added sternly. They were thick as thieves, his children, and over the years he’d learned that the most effective way at instilling discipline was to apply a policy of ‘the fault of one is the fault of all’.

“She deserved it anyway,” Peter mumbled mutinously. A wave of muttering went round the table, his siblings all nodding in agreement.

“She said she wanted to quit because she hated being around freaks like us!” said Jean hotly.

Erik raised an eyebrow. “Did she actually say that?” 

“Well, no,” Jean admitted. “She was thinking it…but Dad, she was thinking it _really loudly_. It’s almost like she _wanted_ me to hear it!”

“That’s reaching a bit, Jean. Ms. Perkins has no idea how powerful you are.” Erik let his gaze travel around the table. “How powerful _all_ of you are.” He locked eyes with each of his children, imploring them to understanding, wanting to impart just how serious this was. “We’ve had this conversation before,” he said. A better father might have wanted to spare his children from the gravity of their situation, but Erik was more than their father. They’d faced some dark times together, and there was nothing - not even their peace of mind - that he prized above their safety. “I don’t want us attracting any untoward attention.”

“Yes, Dad,” said the children in practiced unison.

“I have another nanny arriving tomorrow morning,” said Erik. “His name is Charles Xavier, he’s a friend of Ms. MacTaggart’s. He’s a grad student at Columbia, and he comes highly recommended.”

A chorus of groans rose up from the table. “Another one?” whined Sean.

“Do you really think another nanny is a good idea? Ms. Perkins lasted two hours,” Hank pointed out in a reasonable tone.

“We’re too old for nannies anyway,” Darwin insisted.

“Yeah, we really are. Anyway, Hank and I could totally take care of things,” Raven added.

“ _Enough_ ,” Erik thundered. Once upon a time, the metal in the room - the silverware, the light fixtures - would have begun rattling in response to his mood. But he had learned more self-control now, and anyway, it would never occur to him to use his powers when disciplining his children. “I will say when you are too old for nannies, and your behavior as of late has convinced me of nothing.”

There was a pregnant pause, heavy with frustration and resentment.

“I expect you will extend every courtesy to Charles while he’s here,” Erik continued.

“Yes, Dad,” the children all muttered, exchanging furious looks.

“All right then. Let’s eat,” said Erik, tucking into the meal his children had prepared, and promptly resisted the urge to spit it out. Cooks, his children were most _definitely_ not.

 

* * *

 

_**2\. I have confidence (that this is a supremely bad idea)** _

Charles Xavier was not a man given over to temper tantrums. But as he stared at the taxicab that had unceremoniously dumped him and his meager possessions on the sidewalk, splattering the bottom half of his jeans with muddy water from a nearby puddle as it sped off, he wondered if he could be forgiven for making an exception, just this once.

He’d already been having a crap day, and it had barely started. The heater in his tiny apartment in Brooklyn had finally conked out, reducing him to walking around his own home bundled up in a coat. He’d exhausted his supply of rice, beans, and instant noodles, meaning he’d had nothing to eat for breakfast. To top it all off, the landlord finally decided he’d had enough of late rent payments and, when he saw Charles leaving with a suitcase and backpack in hand, had summarily told him not to come back.

Which meant he had to work doubly hard to impress his new employer. If this Erik Lehnsherr did not like what he saw, Charles would have nowhere else to go. He supposed Moira would let him stay with her, but he did terribly hate to impose.

Charles glanced up at the house, getting a feel for the minds present inside. He couldn’t hear their thoughts - he actively kept a shield up, even against the most harmless of surface thoughts - but he could feel their general state of being. It was a Saturday, so they were all unharried, relaxed. The children seemed to be in their bedrooms, but there was someone puttering about on the first floor. Perhaps the father, in the kitchen, making breakfast.

It was a rather nice tableau, exactly what Charles imagined a family should be like on Saturday mornings.

 _Now or never,_ he thought to himself. He shouldered his backpack, tightened his grip on his suitcase, and walked up to the imposing black gates. There was a doorbell, with an unobtrusive speaker mounted on the wall next to it. He reached out and rang the bell, tamping down a burst of nervousness that bloomed in the pit of his stomach.

A fairly young female voice spoke, somewhat distorted by the crackling of the speaker. “Hello?”

“Um, it’s Charles Xavier. I’m the new - uh, the new nanny.” It still sounded so _weird_. The new nanny. Now there was something Charles never thought he’d end up doing. Not working with young mutants, no - after all, he was getting a master’s degree in mutant education. But childcare was a different thing altogether.

“Hang on, let me get my dad,” said the girl, undoubtedly one of Charles’ new charges. “ _Da-a-a-ad._ There’s a Mr. Xavier at the gate for you!”

A few seconds passed before a deep baritone asked, “Mr. Xavier?”

“Hi!” said Charles, instantly attracted to the voice speaking to him. It was low and clear and just shy of menacing, with the slightest hint of a German accent, and he could just imagine it ordering him to bed - _okay, stop right there, Xavier._ “It’s Charles Xavier, the new nanny.”

“Right, Mr. Xavier. Hold on a bit, I’ll let you in.”

Charles waited patiently for the gates to open. As he stood back, he suddenly felt something in the air shift, something that was coming from the mind of someone in the house. It was only when the gates swung open that he realized he’d felt Mr. Lehnsherr using his powers. _Of course, you idiot,_ he said, grinning, _Moira did say they’re all mutants._

 _You’re one too?_ a voice in his head inquired politely; the same voice that had first answered when Charles had rung the doorbell.

Delightful! Another telepath! _Yes, I am,_ said Charles, projecting his thoughts forward. He unshielded the slightest bit, enough to let the child feel his excitement. Nothing wrong with showing a little enthusiasm. _How do you do?_

_I’m fine, thank you. My name is Jean._

_It’s very nice to meet you, Jean. You can call me Charles._

He picked up his pace, striding confidently up the crushed gravel path, eager to meet his charges. He reached the front door, which was promptly answered by - _whoa there_.

Charles’ first impression of Erik Lehnsherr was that he was tall, much, _much_ taller than Charles, with a narrow-hipped, broad-shouldered build and frankly magnificent arms. He also looked _way_ too young to have seven children, but that was neither here nor there. Moira would have used the word _specimen_ , at which Charles would have cringed and smacked her lightly on the shoulder. As it was, all he could do was stare, wide-eyed and uncomprehending, at his new employer, who was apparently sex on legs.

“Um...hi?” Charles offered lamely, raising a hand. He inwardly kicked himself. _Um, hi?_ Jesus, how high school could he get? “I’m Charles? Charles Xavier? I’m the new nanny?”

Pretty damn high school, if he was reduced to punctuating all his sentences with question marks.

“Yes,” said Mr. Lehnsherr slowly. Charles prayed he wasn’t having second thoughts. “Very nice to meet you. I’m Erik Lehnsherr.” He held out a hand, which Charles gamely shook. “You can call me Erik.”

It was only ten in the morning, but Erik was already dressed for the day, in a white silk shirt and black slacks which, like the leather shoes on his feet, looked expensive. Charles felt distinctly down-at-heel, a feeling he’d become intimately acquainted with in the past year. Not for the first time, he cursed Sharon Xavier and her outdated sensibilities.

“Can I get those for you?” Erik continued, gesturing at Charles luggage.

“Oh, no, that’s all right, I - ” Charles let out a yelp as his suitcase floated up into the air. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” he enthused. “Are you doing that? That’s _brilliant_. What is that, some sort of metallokinesis?”

A tiny smile curled on Erik’s lips. It made him look, in Charles’ opinion, a lot less menacing. “Magnetic fields, actually,” he said, leading Charles into the house. “It makes housework a lot easier.” He gestured at the doorway that led to the kitchen, through which Charles could see half of the sink where a pot and several spoons and forks were dunking themselves in the soapy water.

“That’s brilliant!” Charles repeated excitedly. “The mental acuity needed! Here you are, speaking to me, and you’re still able to focus on moving those dishes - ” He stopped, suddenly aware who he was babbling to. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Lehnsherr - Erik. Did Moira tell you I studied the X-gene? It’s really fascinating and I, well, I guess I tend to get caught up.”

Erik nodded briskly. “Nonsense,” he said. “It’s nice to see mutants taking such a keen interest in matters that affect our kind.” He floated Charles’ suitcase over to the stairs, tucking it away in a corner so no one would trip over it. “Now, Mr. Xavier - ”

“Charles, please.”

“Charles - I don’t know how much Ms. MacTaggart has told you - ”

“Not much,” said Charles. All he’d gotten was a frantic phone call from Moira, telling him his job woes were over, and he didn’t have to worry about rent either because the position she’d found him would provide room and board, and how did he feel about looking after seven children? A wiser man would have recognized that he had no experience with nannying, but Charles was poorer than he was wiser, so.

“You are the twelfth,” said Erik, “in a long line of nannies that have come to look after my children since their mother left. I trust you will be an improvement on the last one. She stayed only two hours.”

It was only by sheer strength of will that Charles’ jaw did not drop. _Moira, what have you gotten me into?_ he thought despairingly. “Quite,” he said weakly.

“They were completely unable to maintain discipline,” said Erik gruffly, folding his arms across his chest. “Without it, this house cannot be properly run.”

“Naturally,” said Charles, trying to keep the dryness out of his tone. Barely five minutes in the Lehnsherr household and he was already beginning to suspect what the problem was. A family scarred by a mother’s abandonment, a distant and heartbroken father trying to maintain a semblance of normality, and children who acted up in an attempt to get his attention. Those poor previous eleven nannies hadn’t stood a chance.

Then again, that didn’t exactly bode well for Charles’ prospects either.

“In the morning, they are all to be dressed by six-thirty sharp. Breakfast is at seven. Their bus comes for them at seven-thirty. Their classes end at four-thirty and they arrive home at five. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Raven, Hank, and Sean will be home by seven. Hank has soccer practice, Raven is on the cheerleading team, and Sean is on the school choir. Do you drive?”

“Er, no,” said Charles, wondering if he should whip out paper and a pen and start taking notes.

“On these days, I’ll leave extra cash for you to take a cab and pick them up from school. I get home from work by eight so I usually don’t have the time to pick them up. Do _not_ take any other form of public transportation,” said Erik warningly. “Taxis only. I have a list of trusted cab companies pinned to the fridge. I hope you’re getting all of this.”

“Right, yes, um - ” Charles fumbled in his backpack, finally extracting a pen and the shabby notebook he used for lectures. “Dressed by six-thirty, breakfast at seven, bus picks them up at seven-thirty,” he mumbled to himself as he wrote. “They’ll be home by five except for Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Raven, Hank, and Sean have extracurriculars. I’m to pick them up, taxis only.” He looked up at Erik. “Did I miss anything?”

Erik shook his head. “Very good,” he said. “You can, at least, listen.” He looked up the stairs, his eyes narrowing slightly, before he glanced back at Charles. “Jean has fetched the children,” he explained. “She tells me you spoke with her earlier.”

“Yes, I don’t know if Moira told you - I’m a telepath as well. Are they all - ” Charles asked.

“Mutants, yes. Telepaths, no,” Erik replied. “With the exception of Peter, my youngest, they’re all adopted.” He raised an eyebrow. “Will this be a problem?”

Charles raised his hands defensively. “Oh, no, not at all. I was only wondering. Moira did tell me they’re all mutants.”

“Yes, well.” Erik sniffed. “Ms. MacTaggart’s insistence on sending me _humans_ to look after my children wasn’t exactly the best of decisions.”

 _Oh no,_ Charles thought, stifling the urge to groan theatrically. _A separatist._ Nevertheless, he gave Erik his blandest, politest smile - the one he often used with Mother, when she went on her long rants about how Charles was wasting his talents. Erik might subscribe to the most outdated views on human-mutant relations, but he was also the only barrier between Charles and starvation.

What sounded like a herd of elephants began stampeding on the second floor. Erik’s children, all seven of them, appeared at the top of the stairs, some dressed, some still in nightclothes. They skidded to a stop on the landing and, at a stern look from their father, proceeded down the last flight of steps at a more sedate pace. They lined up in front of Charles, oldest to youngest, looking at him with carefully blank faces.

Despite the lack of expressed emotion, Charles could feel their distress and anxiety. There was also an undercurrent of something else, something that felt rather like determination. To drive him away, Charles expected, like their previous eleven nannies. Well, he thought to himself, that wasn’t going to happen.

“This is your new nanny,” said Erik, “Mr. Charles Xavier. You may call him Charles.” Charles gave them a tiny wave. “I have to leave for a meeting, so I’ll leave you all to it,” Erik continued, sneaking a glance at his watch. “Introduce yourselves, show Charles to his room, make him feel at home. I trust nothing will go amiss while I’m out,” he added, eyes narrowing.

“Yes, Dad,” all seven chorused.

Erik nodded, still staring at his children distrustfully, before waving a hand at the coat rack next to the door. A black sports coat (with metal cufflinks) and a briefcase (with metal in the handle and the hinges) floated over to him. He put the jacket on, plucked the briefcase from out of the air, and opened the door. “Goodbye, Charles,” he said. “Take good care of them.”

And with that, he was gone.

 

*

 

Raven didn’t know what to think of their new nanny.

He was cute, in a bookish short of way. He looked to be in his early twenties, with longish brown hair, of the kind that looked as though it had been combed and gelled to look deliberately unstyled, and the most startling blue eyes she’d ever seen. Whatever appeal there was to his boyish good looks, however, was completely taken away by the grandpa-esque outfit he had on. That _cardigan_. She wanted to rip it off and burn it.

She glanced down at herself. She was in the usual blonde, blue-eyed form she took when she was out and about - a precaution taken against an outsider now living in their home. The rest of her siblings had their own little tricks prepared. Charles Xavier wouldn’t know what hit him.

“Well then,” he said, beaming at them in a hopelessly optimistic manner, “now that it’s just us, would you mind telling me your names and how old you are? And a little something about yourselves? Just a little get to know you sort of thing, we are going to be spending a lot of time together, after all.”

 _Not if we have anything to say about it._ “I’m Raven,” she said coldly. “I’m seventeen years old and I don’t need a nanny.”

Instead of looking taken aback, Charles just nodded and smiled. “I’m glad you told me, Raven,” he said. “Perhaps we’ll just be good friends.”

It took a supreme effort not to snort disdainfully.

“I’m Henry,” Hank continued, “Hank for short.” He was glancing down at the ground, determinedly not meeting Charles’ gaze. The poor boy was a born leader with his siblings - the one Erik could always count on, even more than Raven herself - but was terribly shy with strangers. “I’m seventeen too and uh, I play soccer, I guess.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Hank,” said Charles, his grin broadening. Raven fought the urge to snicker. The nannies always brightened up after speaking with Hank, thinking that he, at least, would be a breeze. Little did they know, most of their more complicated pranks had been engineered by him. Behind those glasses lurked an evil mastermind.

It was Angel’s turn. “I’m Jean,” she said, smirking. It was a classic, the old switcheroo. No need to make things easier for Charles, after all.

A feather-light touch brushed Raven’s mind, followed by a barrage of mental screeches.  _No, he knows who you are!_ Jean’s voice reverberated, the way it did when she was addressing all her siblings at once. _He’s a_ -

“You didn’t tell me how old you were, Angel,” said Charles, a tinge of mischief now to his smile.

It was almost comical, how, as one, they turned to stare at Charles. Jean stamped her foot. “I tried to tell you,” she said grumpily. “He’s like _us_. Well, like me,” she amended.

Darwin’s jaw dropped. “You’re - ”

“A mutant, yes.” Charles laughed. _Guilty as charged,_ a voice spoke in their heads.

Raven didn’t jump, but it was a near thing. Charles’ presence was so different from Jean’s. Jean was unpracticed, and sometimes when she dove into their minds, it hurt, just the slightest bit, like accidentally inhaling water. But Charles was gentle, and his touch felt almost like standing in warm beams of sunshine.

 _I do apologize for startling you. It seems your father didn’t inform you of our similarities,_ Charles continued, still in their heads. _I promise you, I don’t unduly use my abilities. I highly respect your right to privacy._ “It’s just that when a person is excited, as you were, Angel,” said Charles, out loud this time, “they tend to think a little...loudly.”

Angel scowled and pointedly looked away.

Jean giggled. “ _I’m_ Jean,” she volunteered, stepping forward. “You were right, that’s Angel. She’s sixteen. I’m thirteen. And I think your cardigan is the ugliest thing I ever saw!”

“Jean!” Darwin exclaimed, sounding a little shocked. Raven couldn’t blame him. That was the sort of thing Angel would say.

“You were all thinking it!” Jean retorted.

“Well, to be fair,” said Darwin, grinning slightly, “it’s nowhere near as bad as Mrs. Henley’s gingham dresses.” He smiled at Charles. “I’m Darwin, sixteen years old.”

Charles, to his credit, looked amused. “Pleased to meet you, Angel, Jean, and Darwin,” he said. “I promise I’ll try to be more discerning with my wardrobe next time. And these two gentlemen are…?”

“Sean.” Sean stepped forward and vigorously shook Charles’ hand. “I’m fifteen and I’m incorrigible.”

Charles let out a great snort of laughter. “Really? And who told you that?”

“I forget her name, Josephine something. Four nannies ago.”

“And _you_ must be Peter,” said Charles, turning to the youngest of the bunch. Raven mentally added a tally mark in his favor. Unlike their previous nannies, he didn’t make a great production of getting to his knees to speak eye-to-eye with Peter. Instead, he remained straightened up, hands clasped behind his back, speaking to Peter like an adult.

“I’m ten,” Peter added, uncharacteristically shy. Normally he talked a mile a minute. The revelation that their new nanny was also a mutant must have really shocked him.

“Would you mind showing off a little for me?” Charles asked, a bit shyly. “I was told you’re all mutants but I don’t know what you can do.”

The children all exchanged looks. Somewhere in the back of her mind Raven realized that perhaps Charles was asking so he’d have a better idea of what he was facing, and it would be in their best interests to leave him in the dark, but it was so refreshing to have a nanny who was actively interested in their abilities, who himself was a mutant. Unable to resist the siren call of showing off, Raven released the hold she had on the pretty blonde girl she’d turned into, and showed her true form.

Charles gasped. “That’s amazing!” he said. “A shapeshifter, then?”

In response, Raven morphed into an exact copy of him, right down to the sweep of his ridiculous hair.

“Extraordinary,” Charles murmured. “I wonder, is it external, or - ”

“I can’t mimic your powers, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Raven breezily, turning back into the blonde girl. “But I can do everything else - face, hair, skin, even your voice,” and here, her voice dropped an octave into an exact match to Charles’ tones.

“Extraordinary,” he repeated.

They each showed Charles what they could do, and each time he clapped and made appreciative noises. Hank refused to transform, bashfully saying that it took a while for him to return to his human form, and anyway, the fur got everywhere, but he did show Charles his prehensile feet. After much prodding from her siblings, Angel showed Charles the iridescent dragonfly-like wings that sprouted from her back, gently threaded through holes strategically cut out of her top. Darwin did his usual shtick, sticking his head into the aquarium on display in the living room and showing off the gills that had formed on his neck. Sean explained his sonic scream, regretfully saying that he couldn’t give Charles an example as yet since he didn’t want to break anything.

“You already know I’m a telepath,” said Jean, when it was her turn.

Charles smiled at her. “Is that _all_ you can do?” he asked innocently.

Like Raven, it was clear that Jean was enamored of the temptation to show off. She scrunched up her face, concentrating, and let out a cheer when Charles began to levitate.

“Marvelous!” Charles enthused, looking utterly unperturbed at floating several feet above the ground. “Clearly your telekinetic abilities aren’t tied to your physical strength - oh, this absolutely refutes Keller’s theory on the limits of telepathic and telekinetic mutations!”

“Are you a teacher or something?” asked Peter, as Jean let Charles down. He stared up at their nanny suspiciously. “You use big words like a teacher.”

“No, Peter, but I hope to be one,” said Charles. “Especially to young mutants like yourselves.” He smiled down at him. “And what is it you can do?”

“I’m fast,” said Peter simply, shrugging. Then, he disappeared in a quick blur of color, reappearing with Charles’ wallet in his hands. He grinned toothily - a distinctly sharklike smile that all the Lehnsherr siblings knew he’d inherited from their father - and tossed the wallet back.

“Indeed,” said Charles, still smiling, looking supremely unbothered by the theft. “If you hadn’t told me, I would’ve thought you were a teleporter.”

Peter flushed, evidently pleased. Raven sighed. Except for Angel, who was still scowling in true angsty teen fashion, all her siblings looked hopeful that this new nanny would not be like the others. All he did was show enthusiasm for their powers! Big deal! Nanny Number One (and that had been so long ago, Raven had forgotten her name) was the same, marveling over Jean’s telepathy and Peter’s superspeed, the warm feelings disappearing and thoughts of ‘freak’ and flashes of anger and fear taking their place when she saw Raven’s blue skin, Angel’s wings, and Hank’s feet and fur, the embarrassment she felt when she had to be out in public with the children of Mutant Manor.

It didn’t matter that Charles was a mutant, like them. He was safe, anonymous, able to move out in the world without glancing over his shoulder, the way they did. They didn’t need a nanny, human or otherwise. All they needed was each other. They’d proven that, ten years ago. And Raven was determined to make their father see that.

 

*

 

After show and tell was over, Hank and Darwin showed Charles to his room. Darwin babbled excitedly about having a mutant nanny, asking Charles over and over again to display his telepathy.

“Dad never lets us use our powers,” said Darwin, frowning slightly. “Unless the nanny’s been given a day off, or something. He says it’s not good to ‘have an outsider privy to all our secrets’.” The phrase sounded strange coming from him, and Charles realized Darwin must have quoted directly from his father.

Erik Lehnsherr’s home was _huge_. Nothing on the Xavier ancestral home in Westchester that he’d fled almost five years ago, of course, but Charles hadn’t had the luxury of such space in so long. The ground floor was occupied by the living room, a den, Erik’s office, a dining room, a kitchen, a guest bedroom, and the master bedroom. The second floor had the children’s bedrooms, and each of them had their own. At the very top of the house was an attic which had been converted into another bedroom, and it was here where the nannies of the Lehnsherr household stayed.

“We’ll leave you to unpack then,” said Hank politely, as he and Darwin backed out of Charles’ room.

For a moment, Charles just stood in the middle of the room, luxuriating in all the _space_. His old apartment had been so much tinier. He couldn’t get up from bed without bumping into or jostling something. But this bedroom…Charles could probably blindfold himself, spin around, and not hit anything.

The roof was sloped, with exposed wooden beams from which hung gold light fixtures. There were two windows close to the ground, which provided a rather nice view of the backyard which had - Charles inwardly cheered - a swimming pool. The room’s centerpiece was the bed, a magnificent queen-sized thing with a veritable mountain of pillows. There was also a desk and a chair, and a reading nook in the corner by a window.

He shrugged off the cardigan the children had all objected to, leaving him in a sweatshirt and his least ratty pair of jeans, and began to unpack his meager belongings. Clothes and shoes, a handful of toiletries, and his personal effects. His only prized possession was the large collection of books he’d amassed over the years, and he’d left that at Moira’s place when he left the mansion in Westchester for good. He wasn’t risking keeping his precious library in his old fire hazard of an apartment. He would have to see about getting his books back from Moira, and perhaps getting a bookshelf up here. He had more than enough room now.

Once he’d finished unpacking, Charles took out his notebook and laptop. He booted up the computer, opened a web browser, and Googled his new employer. From the website of the engineering firm Frost Industries, Charles learned that Erik Lehnsherr was thirty-three years old (a little voice whispered to him that nine years wasn’t that big an age difference, but he resolutely ignored it), shockingly young to be heading his own team, but a brilliant innovator and meticulous worker. He also found an article on the groundbreaking of a civic center geared towards mutants located in Boulder, at the bottom of which was a short description of the engineering team that handled it, headed by one Erik Lehnsherr, a divorced father of seven.

Intrigued, Charles chased the lead through the Internet, but could find no further reference to an ex-wife. He returned to Frost Industries’ website, but aside from finding out that most of the firm’s employees were mutants (thanks in part to the fact that the CEO, Christian Frost, had three mutant sisters), there was nothing new to learn.

Unable to help himself, Charles then Googled the children. There were a handful of articles on Hank. Apparently, the boy was a soccer star (Charles winced as he thought of the word ‘soccer’ - he was British to the core, and it galled him to realize he was no longer thinking of the sport as ‘football’) as well as a science whiz, having bagged trophies in both arenas. But other than that, all Charles could find were Facebook pages. He shook his head sadly at the profile photo next to the name ‘Raven Lehnsherr’, that of a pretty blonde with rosy cheeks and blue eyes lounging on a beach somewhere, and felt rather privileged to have been shown the children’s abilities.

 _That was the easy part,_ he thought glumly, thinking of how easily they’d let down their guard when he asked to see their mutations. Considering how suspicious and overprotective their father was, it was no wonder that they’d reacted positively to someone who seemed enthusiastic about their powers. But truly getting close to the children and earn their trust was going to take time.

Charles wondered what had happened to Erik to make him so wary of the world. Perhaps it had been his wife leaving. Perhaps she was human, and had been unable to handle seven mutant children. If that was the case, Charles could certainly understand Erik’s desire to keep his children close and safe. Despite his brusque demeanor, Charles already knew his employer was a man who cared deeply for others - or mutantkind, at least. He could think of no other reason to have adopted seven - no, six children, Peter was biologically his.

The chiming of a clock somewhere downstairs informed Charles that it was eleven o’clock. He wondered idly if part of the nanny’s job was preparing meals, then decided to do so anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to show a little initiative, after all.

He closed his laptop and put it away, then headed downstairs to the kitchen. The house was ominously silent, almost as though it was holding its breath. He hadn’t heard any of the children leave, and Erik hadn’t said anything about them being out on weekends, so Charles assumed they were in their rooms. Or, more accurately, cloistered in one bedroom - maybe Raven’s, she was clearly the ringleader, as the eldest - plotting his untimely demise.

The kitchen was very nice, with stainless steel countertops, an oven, stove, and a gleaming kitchen island surrounded by wooden stools. The fridge was covered in sheets of paper held up by magnets, which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be a collection of schedules, report cards, notes from teachers, and a handful of math worksheets on which Peter had gotten perfect scores. There was a photo as well, a polaroid of a younger Erik with his whole brood, sitting on the porch of the house. Raven and Hank couldn’t have been more than ten years old, and Peter was still a baby, wrapped in a blanket and cradled in Erik’s arms.

No mother in sight.

Oh well. Charles could solve the mystery of the missing Mrs. Lehnsherr some other time. Right now, he had a meal to make.

Aside from his father’s study and the library, the one place in the old mansion that Charles had truly felt at home was the kitchen. Under the tutelage of the staff, all of whom were far more of a mother to Charles than his own had been, he’d learned how to cook, and cook well. The magnificent professional-grade kitchen was one of the things Charles missed the most when he’d left. The portable stove top tucked into a corner of Charles’ old place had been a poor substitute.

He hunted through the pantry and fridge, turning up a tub of salty snacks in one cupboard, a lot of fruit, eggs, several cartons of chocolate milk and whole milk, seven different kinds of sugary breakfast cereal, easy-to-cook meats like chicken nuggets and bacon, three frozen pizzas, a small pile of tomatoes and broccoli and one wilted lettuce in the vegetable crisper, and a package of mozzarella. All in all, the typical contents of a single father’s fridge. Charles sighed and mentally reviewed how much he had in his wallet. Not nearly enough for a quick grocery run.

Feeling the slightest bit guilty, Charles cast his mind around the neighborhood, deliberately avoiding delving too deep into anyone’s thoughts, merely scanning around for anyone who was thinking of food. Finally, he touched the mind of a housewife, who, luckily, was fretting about what to do with the ingredients she’d just bought, since her son had thrown a tantrum and was no longer interested in the dish he’d asked for that morning. Charles expanded his consciousness, determined that the housewife lived just across the street, and decided to pay - he paused, listening for an identity - Mrs. Jebel a visit.

Mrs. Jebel turned out to be a tall, fair-skinned woman with long dark hair and small eyes, wearing a bright pink apron over an orange dress. She was, as far as Charles could tell, not a mutant. “Can I help you?” she asked Charles.

“Yeah, hi, sorry to bother you,” said Charles. “My name is Charles Xavier, I live across the street. I was just wondering if you had any - ” He let his mind touch hers once more, briefly. “ - spare eggplant? I’d be happy to pay you back for it, it’s just that, I’m Mr. Lehnsherr’s new nanny and I’ve only just arrived - ”

“Oh, a new one already,” Mrs. Jebel tutted sympathetically. “Poor dear. Yes, of course you can - I do happen to have some eggplant, luckily. My Billy told me he wanted eggplant parmesan for lunch but then he’s changed his mind.” She chuckled. “We’re going out for lunch instead. Would you mind waiting, while I fetch the groceries?”

“Of course not, ma’am.”

A few minutes passed before Mrs. Jebel returned, carrying a reusable bag from the nearby supermarket. “Here you go,” she said, handing it over. “Now, if there’s _anything_ at all that you need, do let me know, won’t you? I hate the thought of a nice boy like you all alone in that place.” She wrinkled her nose with distaste.

“I beg your pardon?” said Charles frostily, easily catching onto the meaning behind her tone.

“You haven’t seen them yet?” Mrs. Jebel said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “The two oldest ones are blue, and one of the girls spits these flaming things right out of her mouth. Disgusting. And the littlest one is such a troublemaker. Unlike my Billy,” she added proudly. “Well, you let me know if you need anything else, dear boy.”

“Of course,” Charles replied, feigning a polite tone. “I’ll be back later to pay for the groceries.” Still inwardly stunned at how casually their neighbor had dismissed Erik and his children, Charles turned round and headed back to the house. He resisted the urge to simply reach into the woman’s mind and make her forget that he owed her money. It would be the ultimate in revenge.

And also a flagrant misuse of powers - something he promised himself he’d never, ever do. Sighing, Charles retreated into the kitchen and began preparing eggplant parmesan. Luckily, Erik’s kitchen was not so unequipped that it didn’t have tomatoes, olive oil, and eggs.

By the time the Lehnsherr brood wandered downstairs, getting ready to order pizza for lunch (the way they always did when their father wasn’t around), they found Charles puttering around in the kitchen, extracting a glass dish from the oven. “Oh, hello!” he said. “I was wondering where you’d all gone off to. What do you lot normally do on a weekend, anyway?”

“Um...not much,” said Darwin warily. “We usually just stay in.”

“Homebodies, huh? I can relate.” Although Charles privately wondered if they were homebodies out of personal preferences, or Erik’s. “Could one of you set the table, please?”

Normally, the children would have bristled at the directive, but they were too shocked at the sight of the homemade food being presented to them. Erik knew how to cook, certainly, but his repertoire was limited to things that could be prepared simply by putting it close to a source of heat. Anything more complicated warranted a trip to the family’s favorite restaurant, or a phone call to the nearby Thai, Chinese, or pizza place.

So, obediently, Peter and Sean went to go grab placemats and dishes, Jean took cutlery from a drawer in the kitchen, and Hank and Darwin carried over glassware and a pitcher of juice from the fridge. Only Raven and Angel refrained, taking their seats at the table with stony looks on their faces.

“You can _cook_?” said Sean wonderingly as Charles placed a goodly portion of eggplant parmesan on his plate.

“Yes, although as of late, I haven’t had too many opportunities to display my talents.” Charles circled the table, divvying up the food between the children. He deposited the last square of tomato sauce, mozzarella, and eggplant on his own plate, and sat down. “Dig in,” he said, gesturing broadly. “I promise it’s not poisoned.”

Jean narrowed her eyes slightly, then gasped. “You got this from Mrs. Jebel! You listened in on her mind and she was thinking she didn’t need this food anymore so you went over and got it from her!” she whispered, almost reverently. “Dad doesn’t like it when I do that,” she grumped.

 _Oh, shit,_ thought Charles, throwing up his shields as fast as as he could. It wouldn’t do to let his mind wander like that, not with another telepath around. “And your dad’s right, Jean,” said Charles sternly. “I needed to make lunch and we were out of food, but it was very wrong of me to listen in on Mrs. Jebel’s thoughts.”

“We have food in the kitchen,” said Darwin. “You didn’t have to ask Mrs. Jebel for anything.”

“I thought something fresh and homemade might be a nice change,” said Charles diplomatically, resolving to bring up the issue of food with Erik at the soonest opportunity. “At any rate, Mrs. Jebel had no more need of her groceries. And I’ll be sure to pay her back.”

“Her son’s a piece of shit,” Angel muttered. There was a flurry of nods and murmured agreement from her siblings.

Charles frowned. “Has he done anything?” he asked.

As one, six of the Lehnsherr siblings glanced toward Peter. He flushed and pointedly stuffed a forkful of eggplant and cheese in his mouth. Slowly, the children seemed to reach a consensus that if Peter wasn’t going to bring it up, neither would they.

“All right,” said Charles, deciding not to push the issue, “if Peter doesn’t want to tell me, that’s his business. But Peter,” he added, looking the youngest Lehnsherr in the eye, “you can tell me anything, okay? I know I haven’t even been here one day, but I’m going to be looking after you, and I’ll do everything in my power to help, if you want me to.”

Hank checked his watch. “Well,” he said dryly, “you’ve already been here longer than the last nanny, so that’s an improvement, I think.”

For a moment, Charles stared at him, open-mouthed. Then he began to laugh. Taken aback and rather unable to help themselves, the Lehnsherr children joined in.

 

* * *

 

_**3\. fellows I meet may tell me I'm sweet and willingly I believe** _

Dinner that night had been a curious affair. Erik had come home from his day of meetings with a wary set to his features, clearly expecting the whole house to be on fire. Instead, a sort of ceasefire had been cautiously implemented. Raven and the other girls plus Peter spent the rest of the day hanging out by the pool, while Sean, Hank, and Darwin went to the den to play video games. Charles had elected to retreat to his room, where he remained until sometime in the afternoon, when he came back down to the kitchen to make dinner. Erik found him in the kitchen, making tomato and bacon omelettes.

“You and I need to have a serious chat about what constitutes a proper meal, my friend,” said Charles, beaming up at from his place in front of the stove.

Erik’s only response had been to raise an eyebrow and say, “Evidently.”

Dinner was quiet. It normally was, after Erik’s perfunctory questions about their day, but this time, there was a tension in the air. Charles, Hank, and Darwin desperately tried to diffuse it, keeping up an inane running commentary on the neighborhood, school, and anything they could come up with. By the time Hank was able to retire to the safety of his bedroom, he was absolutely beat.

“It’s only been a day,” said Raven furiously, “and he’s getting to us. Getting to you,” she added accusingly, looking up at Hank from her perch on his bed.

“Charles seems nice,” Hank insisted. He was seated at his desk, tapping away at a laptop. He had a research paper for his AP Biology class due on Monday, and did not appreciate Raven coming in his room to rant about their new nanny. _Or was it ‘manny’_ , Hank wondered.

“They always seem nice,” Raven muttered. “Until they see this.” She indicated her skin, blue beneath her cotton nightgown.

“Charles has already seen you, Raven,” sighed Hank. He closed his laptop and swiveled around to face her. Clearly, he would not be getting any work done tonight. “He knows what all of us can do, and he’s not running for the hills. And, you know, he’s - ”

“One of us?” Raven snapped, sitting up abruptly. “He’s a mutant. That doesn’t make him one of us.”

Hank bit his lower lip. “Dad’s really gotten to you, hasn’t he.”

“He’s the only one who ever cared,” Raven muttered bitterly. “We’re the only ones, Hank. None of the others out there know what we’ve been through. They’re mutants, but they were loved, and cared for, with a family that was looking out for them. Not like us.”

“We have to start letting go, Raven,” said Hank softly. “It’s been ten years. We’re together. We’re _safe_.”

Raven threw him a quelling look. “You’re a fool if you believe that.”

“You sound just like Dad.”

“I don’t even know why he insists on a nanny!” Raven exclaimed. “We can take care of ourselves. And anyway, it doesn’t seem to really fit in with Dad’s ‘keep to ourselves’ policy, doesn’t it? Hiring nannies to look after us?”

“Mom leaving really shook him, I think,” said Hank softly. It had affected all of them deeply, when Magda Lehnsherr had left, but Erik most of all. He had gone into this mad venture of raising six powerful mutants thinking he’d have a partner at his side, but Magda clearly hadn’t been up to the task. Her own biological son turning out to be a mutant as well had been the last straw. “He doesn’t think he can do it on his own.”

Raven snorted. “We’re all we need,” she said firmly, beautiful in her conviction.

Hank’s phone, sitting innocently on his desk, began to chirp. Raven glanced over at it, but Hank quickly snatched it up. This, naturally, only served to further pique Raven’s curiosity.

“Who’s that?” she asked innocently.

“No one,” Hank replied stiffly, clutching his phone to his chest. “Listen, Raven, I really need to be working on my paper - ”

Raven rolled her eyes. “Lame,” she said. “Fine, I’m gonna go. But we’re not done talking about this,” she added pointedly as she got up off of Hank’s bed. “Good night, Hank.”

“Night, Raven.”

Hank waited until Raven was safely out of his room before thumbing open the text message that had arrived. _I’m at the playground. Wru?_ it read.

 _Be there in ten minutes,_ Hank typed back. He pulled on a hoodie over his pajamas, pulled on a pair of sneakers, and opened the window.

As a child, the drainage pipe outside his bedroom window had been a source of amusement. As a teenager, it was his way out from the sweeping gaze of an overprotective father. As much of a hassle as transforming was, his abilities did have their upsides - such as being able to easily climb out a window.

The playground in their neighborhood was abandoned at this time of night, with all the nice little kiddies safely tucked away in their parents’ huge mansions. Hank had always liked the playground. When he was younger, the monkey bars and swing sets had been enough of a challenge for his prehensile toes and mutant strength and agility. And when he’d gotten older, the playground proved to be the perfect place for him and Alex to meet.

There were boys like Alex Summers in every high school. Good-looking, golden-haired and blue-eyed, all-American jocks who had cute smiles and less-than-stellar grades that were conveniently overlooked because they were good athletes. Discovering that they were the only two mutants on the school’s soccer team had, instead of bringing Hank and Alex together, totally driven them apart. Alex was forever needling Hank for the shape of his feet, calling him ‘Big Foot’ and ‘Bozo’. It had only worsened when, one day during practice, Alex had kicked a ball hard enough into Hank’s chest to knock him over. This had activated his transformation, which Hank had long theorized was tied into his body’s fight-or-flight response. Hank had reared up from the pitch and leapt at Alex, who’d immediately responded with his energy blasts. Sean and Scott, Alex’s younger brother, had been waiting in the stands for their respective siblings, and had immediately joined the fight. It had taken the rest of the team, the coach, and two other teachers to pull them all apart. The resultant detentions - Hank’s first, which Raven and Angel loved to point out - took the rest of the school year to complete.

Nobody had been more shocked than Hank when, one evening, Alex had come over to apologize. He’d told Hank, looking as though it pained him to be saying so, that they were already discriminated against on the pitch for being what they were. “No need to add fuel to that fire,” he’d said, extending his hand for Hank to shake. Dumbstruck, Hank had taken Alex’s hand.

That had been a year ago.

Alex was sitting on one of the benches scattered around the playground, dressed in jeans and a hoodie. He was looking down, playing some sort of game on his phone, but looked up with a smile upon hearing Hank’s approach. “Hey, bozo,” he said. Where once the nickname was spat out mockingly, it was now an endearment, threaded through with warmth and intimacy.

“Hi,” said Hank shyly, taking the seat next to Alex.

That was all the prelude Alex needed. He pulled Hank closer and kissed him deeply, threading his fingers through Hank’s hair. They stayed locked together for a good long time, until air became a necessity and they broke apart, slowly, hesitantly, like they would remain kissing if only breathing wasn’t an issue.

The thought of making their relationship public had never occurred to either of them. As far as the rest of the school was concerned, they were Hank Lehnsherr and Alex Summers, the only two mutants on the school’s soccer team, the only two athletes who could keep up with the other, their animosity having melted into a curious sort of semi-friendship. It would be the event of the year if anyone got wind that they’d gone past that, falling head over heels for each other, the way that teenagers at loggerheads will almost always do.

“How was your day?” asked Hank breathlessly.

Alex chuckled. “Pretty boring,” he said. “Dad’s on a business trip so I’m stuck babysitting Scott. The kid’s a pain in the ass.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “At least there’s only one of him,” he pointed out.

“True, true.” Alex winced. “Six brothers and sisters, man. That’s tough.”

“You know,” said Hank, “I suddenly realized, I’ve never even seen your dad. Is he out of town that often?” Alex and Scott were popular in town and at school, the fact that they were both mutants largely ignored by everyone else since they were a) extremely good-looking; b) not blue; and c) not furry. But no one could remember meeting Mr. Summers with any kind of regularity.

“Yeah,” Alex answered. “He’s really busy.”

‘Busy’ wouldn’t even begin to cover it, Hank privately thought. It had been almost two years since the Summers family had moved to New York from California, and almost no one had met the elusive Mr. Summers. The principal and a few teachers from school must have met him, when Alex and Scott enrolled, but other than that, nobody Hank knew had seen hide or hair of the man. He hadn’t even attended the parent-teacher conference the principal had called in the wake of the mutant battle on the soccer field, sending his secretary instead.

“So,” Alex continued, grinning, “your dad manage to hire a new nanny yet? I hear Angel set the last one on fire.” He laughed at the look on Hank’s face. “News about Mutant Manor travels fast,” he added.

“Don’t let Raven hear you call the house that,” said Hank warningly. “But yeah. His name’s Charles. He’s a grad student at Columbia. Not much older than me. He must’ve graduated from college early,” Hank murmured admiringly.

“That must make your little nerd brain really happy,” Alex sniffed.

Hank smirked. “Are you jealous?”

“What? No!”

“You _are_ ,” Hank marveled. “That’s so _sweet_.”

“Can it, bozo,” snarled Alex.

Hank chuckled and leaned against Alex, allowing his head to droop onto Alex’s shoulder. “So sweet,” he repeated. “I knew that tough guy thing of yours was just an act.”

“You suck.”

“Sure do,” Hank replied, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. He let out a peal of laughter at the blush creeping up Alex’s cheeks. “You’re adorable.”

“Shut up,” mumbled Alex. He lifted an arm and curled it around Hank’s shoulders. “So you’re not into the new nanny?” he finally asked, just the tiniest bit of insecurity in his voice.

“Not at all,” said Hank, no trace of teasing in his tone. “Anyway,” he added, “I think Raven and Angel might eviscerate me if I hooked up with a nanny.”

“ _Eviscerate_ ,” Alex repeated scornfully. “You and your big words.”

Hank could almost hear his siblings - Angel and Sean, especially, the little shits - snickering and urging him to say, ‘That’s the not the only thing of mine that’s big.’ Hank did a perfunctory check in his mind, searching for Jean’s presence, but the coast was clear. “He’s a mutant, you know,” he said instead. “Charles, I mean.”

Alex’s eyebrows flew up. “Yeah?” he asked. “What’s he do?”

“He’s a telepath, like Jean. We haven’t really seen how powerful yet, but so far everyone’s tiptoeing around him. Casing the joint, so to speak.”

“No pranks yet?” Alex asked, smirking.

Hank laughed and shook his head. “But Raven’s planning something. She’s pissed.”

“God save us all from the wrath of Raven Lehnsherr,” said Alex dryly. “But hey, your dad got you guys a mutant this time. That’s cool. I always wondered why he always hired human nannies. He always struck me as the ‘mutant and proud’ type of guy. Raven, too.”

“Yeah, well, if Dad could’ve gotten a mutant nanny sooner, he would’ve,” said Hank, shrugging.

“What do _you_ think?”

Hank raised an eyebrow. This was not normally where his clandestine meetings with Alex led. By now Alex was usually dragging him off to a bush or a tree or a discreet alleyway for some quick fooling around. They hadn’t had sex yet - Hank flushed at the thought - but there’d been plenty of PG-13 stuff in the meantime. And now, here was Alex, asking him for his opinion on human-mutant relations. “Well,” he said slowly, not wanting to offend Alex just in case he was on the same side of the fence as Raven and Erik, “I think there should be a happy medium, you know?”

“Always the peacemaker, aren’t you?” said Alex, smiling slightly. “Some would call that naive.”

“Some would also say that mutants are the next step in human evolution. They would be patently incorrect,” said Hank primly, all the research he’d done brimming in his mind. He considered talking to Charles about the possibility of majoring in genetics. Something that would allow him to work with the X-gene. It would be worth his siblings’ disapproval.

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, announcing the approach of a storm. Before Hank could make noises about heading back home, the clouds above them burst open and released a flood of rainwater, drenching both him and Alex.

“Oh dear,” said Hank mildly, as Alex spluttered and stared down at his wet clothes in disbelief. “Looks like Ororo Munroe and her mom have gotten into a fight again. Weather-controller who lives on the next block,” he added. “The weather reacts to her mood when she’s feeling particularly pissy. Jean’s best friend, incidentally.”

“I’d hate to get those two mad at me at the same time,” Alex muttered.

“Indeed.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. OH WOW. 
> 
> Thank you _everyone_ who read, gave kudos, bookmarked, and commented! Thank you **so much**. I wrote this on a whim and never dreamed that it would receive this kind of feedback. THANK YOU. ♥
> 
> (Will reply to comments individually in a bit, because I'm a pathetic child who tears up at the thought of people enjoying my work and I want to throw confetti over all of you.)
> 
> I don't speak German. If anyone would like to correct the pet names Erik uses in this chapter, please do so!
> 
> Also, I tried, but I can't fit the story into 3 chapters. So I think there'll be two more. Hooray?

**_4\. raindrops_ ** **_on roses and whiskers on kittens_ **

Over the next few days, the Lehnsherr household settled into a state of equilibrium, and Erik was quickly able to reestablish his routine. He was up at the crack of dawn, doing laps in the pool or off on a run through the neighborhood. When he was done, Charles was already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. By seven o’clock, the children were assembled in the dining room, downing breakfast cereal, eggs, toast, and orange juice. When their school bus pulled up at the curb, Charles saw them off with a brown-bagged lunch each. The look on Raven’s face when Charles had first presented them with the homemade meals had been priceless. It almost made Erik wish for a camera.

Then again, he must have sported a similar expression when Charles had also seen him off with his own paper bag, with a salad in a tupperware container and a sandwich wrapped in cling film. Making his children lunch to take to school was one thing. Erik hadn’t expected to be included.

“I’m sorry,” said Charles quickly, misinterpreting the look on Erik’s face. “Hank said you weren’t keeping kosher…”

“I’m not,” Erik was quick to reassure. “None of the children were Jewish before they came to me  and it just seemed easier.” He tucked the paper bag into his briefcase, oddly touched at Charles’ thoughtfulness. “Thank you very much, Charles.”

“You’re welcome,” Charles replied, blushing the tiniest bit. It was, Erik reflected, a rather charming look on him, befitting his fair skin and intensely blue eyes.

Their first Monday together, Erik had asked Charles for a copy of his class schedule. According to it, Charles’ first class for the week was at nine o’clock in the morning. He imagined that, shortly after he left for work, Charles cleaned up the kitchen and left for class as well. Erik mildly entertained the thought of occasionally offering the new nanny a lift, resolutely ignoring the insidious voice in his head whispering that perhaps making such an offer would cause that delightful blush to suffuse Charles’ cheeks once more.

On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Charles arrived home - and really, wasn’t it a little early for Erik to start thinking of the house as Charles’ _home_ as well? - at a little past seven, Raven, Hank, and Sean in tow. Raven always looked rather put out to be in Charles’ company, but Sean and Hank seemed to be warming up to their new nanny. Hank, in particular, seemed to have developed something of a rapport with Charles, if the way they enthusiastically discussed Hank’s college prospects was anything to judge by.

Erik hadn’t really expected any of his children to participate in extracurriculars, but Raven’s natural flexibility made her a shoo-in for the cheerleading squad, Hank was undeniably an asset to the soccer team, and Sean’s supersonic abilities could be modulated into a surprisingly good tenor singing voice. The thought of Raven, Hank, and Sean out and about after school hours made him antsy, but he certainly wasn’t going to forbid them from something that made them happy.

“Everything seems to be going well,” Janos remarked one morning, when Erik walked into Frost Industries without the usual miasma of murderous intent hovering over his head for the fourth day in a row. “New nanny working out?”

Erik threw a scowl at his second-in-command. When he’d been offered his own team, he hadn’t hesitated in asking for Janos Quested. The man was quite possibly allergic to minding his own business, but he was as meticulous a worker as Erik was. No one else had the same attention to detail and dedication to perfection. “The house is still standing, if that’s any indication,” he replied. “I _told_ MacTaggart,” he added, mumbling to himself, “but she wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Ah, you’ve finally gotten yourself a mutant nanny, then,” said Janos, nodding. He was a mutant himself, and more or less shared Erik’s views on how mutant and human society should interact - which is to say, not at all. “Must be nice to be proven right. What’s this one’s mutation?”

“He’s a telepath.”

“O _ho_! No wonder it’s been quiet,” said Janos, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “Your little shapeshifter’s found herself backed into a corner, has she?”

Unable to help himself, Erik smirked. “She’s never had a nanny like Charles before, that’s for sure.”

“ _Charles_ ,” said Janos, rolling the nanny’s name around in his mouth like a particularly delicious piece of candy. “Has a nice ring to it,” he added, grinning. People liked to whisper (well out of earshot, of course) that the reason Janos and Erik got along so famously was because they both had terrifying smiles. Erik’s had entirely too much teeth, which led people to compare him to a shark; while Janos’ smile often personified the phrase ‘unholy glee’.

“You are _not_ to seduce my nanny,” said Erik sternly. “It was hard enough getting one that could keep the peace this long.”

“Oh, far be it from me to disrupt the day-to-day activities Lehnsherr household,” Janos singsonged. “And anyway, I’m sure this Charles will have his hands full soon enough. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that when your brood is this quiet, they’re planning something.”

Erik grimaced. “Don’t I know it.”

Janos’ prediction proved to be correct. One evening, a little under a week after Charles had moved in and successfully assumed nanny-ship of the Lehnsherr children, they finally made their move.

Erik and Charles were in the kitchen, where the latter was cooking dinner while expounding on the topics their professor had covered in class that day. Erik found himself actively listening to the conversation, drawn in by Charles’ enthusiasm. The nanny was clearly an integrationist - Erik remembered that Charles was Moira’s ex, and he highly doubted Moira would have taken up with someone whose views were more militant - but he was, at the very least, passionate about mutant rights. He spoke enthusiastically about the work he’d done on integrating mutant development classes into public school curriculum, emphasizing the need for normalization so that human peers wouldn’t feel cagey around their mutant classmates.

“But what about the safety of the students taking these MDCs?” Erik remarked. He was seated at the kitchen island, presiding over a knife chopping several cloves of garlic of its own accord. “You say it’s important that humans view MDCs as just another activity available only to a select category of students, rather like advanced placement. That’s all well and good for teenagers whose only hangup is feeling left out, but there are more unsavory elements out there for whom a classroom or football field filled with mutant students and a mutant teacher would be a prime target.”

Charles grinned. “Ever the optimist, aren’t you?” he said.

“I prefer the term ‘realist’.”

“ _Realistically_ , most parents of mutant children just worry about bullying and discrimination,” Charles pointed out.

 _Most parents of mutant children haven’t gone through what my family has,_ Erik thought angrily, before suddenly remembering that he was speaking to a telepath. He glanced up at Charles, but he was entirely focused on the pot of spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove.

Without warning, Charles stiffened and turned to the kitchen door, eyes narrowed. “Did you hear that?” he asked.

“Hear what?”

“I think…yes.” Charles smirked. (Erik suspected that the curve of Charles’ lips, plush and red, would feature prominently in his dreams for nights to come, but that was neither here nor there.) “Would you like a first-hand demonstration of my skills at maintaining discipline?”

“I...what?” Erik sputtered, still focused on how Charles’ mouth had formed the word ‘discipline’. That called forth all sorts of images he _definitely_ didn’t need.

Charles switched off the stove and covered the spaghetti sauce. “Come with me,” he said, crooking his finger.

Intrigued, Erik followed.

They walked through the house to the sliding glass doors in the back, which led to the pool. From there, they could see Angel, her wings gleaming in the moonlight as she flitted from what could only be Charles’ bedroom window, landing lightly on the ground. Jean was standing by the diving board, her face screwed up with concentration, the way she always did when she was levitating something. Raven, Hank, Darwin, Sean, and Peter were standing with her, arms outstretched.

Jean let out an ‘oof’ as she let go. Shirts, shoes, jackets, and underwear fell from the sky and into the children’s waiting hands. It was clear now what they were planning - they were going to dump Charles’ belongings in the pool.

Erik harrumphed and moved to open the door, building up steam for a good, long lecture, but Charles stopped him with a hand on his wrist. There was a mischievous grin on his face, one that suddenly reminded of how young Charles was, despite already having one master’s degree and working towards a second one.

“Let me,” he whispered. “But before I go out there,” he added, looking Erik in the eye, “do I have your permission to use…” He trailed off, tapping two fingers against his temple to indicate his telepathy.

Erik suppressed a smirk of his own. “By all means,” he said. “Just, you know, don’t turn my children into vegetables.”

“Of course not.” Charles stepped out onto the porch, quietly enough that the children, caught in the throes of their mischief, did not notice. However, they most definitely noticed when, suddenly, they could no longer move or speak.

For the first time, Erik saw just how powerful Charles’ telepathy was. This was no low-level mind-reader, only able to sense a person’s moods or surface thoughts. If Charles wasn’t hearing their every thought, privy to their every waking moment, it was only because he had built up strong shields to block out the world.

Erik felt just the slightest bit uneasy, seeing how unnaturally still the children were. It reminded him of the stretchers, all those years ago, the windowless room utterly devoid of metal, and six small children held in place by straitjackets or drugs, Erik, powerless, reduced to begging, his voice scraped and raw in his throat as he pleaded with their tormentor to _take me, take me instead…_

He shook himself out of his memories, unwilling to relive them with not one but two telepaths nearby. It helped that, even in the short week they’d known each other, Erik could tell that Charles was as unlike Shaw as was possible. He seemed to genuinely care for the children, even those who were openly antagonistic, like Raven and Angel. But more than that, Erik could see how the kids were all utterly unafraid, even frozen as they were. Infuriated at being caught, perhaps, but not afraid.

“Good evening, children,” said Charles jovially, stepping into their line of vision. “I believe there’s no need for that, I’ve only just done my laundry.” He plucked the articles of clothing out of their unmoving fingers, taking care to place them on the porch well out of their reach. “Just a piece of friendly advice, Jean,” Charles continued, smiling down at her. “Your telepathic range is incredible, but it’s useless if you don’t know how to shield.”

Erik left the relative safety of the house, eager to see what kind of justice Charles was about to dispense. Judging by the varying degrees of outrage on his children’s faces, this seemed to be a scheme cooked up by the girls. Darwin in particular looked more resigned than anything, as though he’d been unwillingly pulled into the plot.

When Charles had frozen the children, they’d been right in the middle of tossing Charles’ clothes into the pool. When he unfroze them, their momentum carried them forward, and they all toppled into the cold water. They surfaced with either indignant cries or incredulous laughter, according to their respective temperaments.

Unable to help himself, Erik let out a bark of laughter. His children stared up at him in disbelief. He shrugged. “You deserve it,” he informed them.

“Told you this wasn’t going to end well,” said Sean blandly, kicking off his shoes and rolling over to float on his back.

“I wonder if I could run on water?” said Peter contemplatively, smacking the surface of the pool with a hand.

“I bet you could,” Darwin replied, looking remarkably at ease. Of course, his mutation had kicked in by then, giving him webbed feet and hands, and gills that could process chlorinated water. “If you went fast enough.”

Raven scowled and flipped water into her brothers’ faces. “I don’t see you boneheads coming up with any ideas,” she muttered angrily.

“I did warn you,” Hank said idly, “that Charles would probably sense Jean.” Erik suddenly understood how Charles had discovered the children’s misbehavior. Without shields in place, Jean using her telekinesis on such a large scale must have been rather like a beacon to Charles’ own telepathy.

“Are you saying it’s  _my_ fault?” cried Jean.

“Children, listen up.” Charles’ loud voice, as clipped and precise as any drill sergeant, interrupted the burgeoning argument. It was, Erik thought, a rather good imitation of the tone he himself used. “I’m smarter and sneakier than any of you - oh yes, Raven, I am,” he said, at Raven’s disbelieving snort, “and I am not going to be frightened away by any of your tricks. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m anything like your previous nannies. I’m going to be keeping you lot in line until I finish grad school or your father fires me, whichever comes first. I am going to be here until then, so I suggest you start getting used to it.”

There was a stunned silence. Erik resisted the urge to applaud.

“Leave your wet clothes in the bathroom, I’ll launder them tomorrow,” said Charles, in an unbearably cheerful tone of voice. “Go on and get changed, then come down for dinner when you’re done.”

He executed a smart about-face and retrieved as much of his clothes as he could carry before gliding back into the house. Erik stared after him, trying not to let his jaw drop. When Charles had disappeared back into the house, he turned back to his children. Angel had already flown out of the pool and was sitting on the edge, shaking out the water from her wings. Jean levitated herself out of the water, looking disgruntled - perhaps at Charles’ comment, that she needed to learn how to shield. Raven, Hank, Darwin, Sean, and Peter paddled over the edge, hoisting themselves out. The shock of being dunked had caused Raven to let go of her hold on her usual blonde form, and she struggled out of the pool blue-skinned, red-haired, and disgusted.

“I did tell you to extend every courtesy to Charles while he was here,” said Erik mildly. He moved to pick up the rest of Charles’ clothes so he wouldn’t have to come back downstairs. “Hurry up now,” he called over his shoulder, “you don’t want dinner to get cold.”

 

*

 

The Pool Incident, as Charles had come to call it, had gone a long way to earning the children’s respect. They were used to nannies who turned tail and ran at the first sign of conflict, not nannies like Charles who met them head on. It certainly helped that he was also a mutant, but more than that, Charles felt that it was his unwillingness to back down that had elevated him in the Lehnsherr children’s eyes.

Of course, the children weren’t done with Charles. There was one memorable morning where he’d come downstairs and Erik had said to him him, in a tone dryer than the Sahara, “What an adorable redhead you make, Charles.” The children had, apparently, put red hair dye in his shampoo. Charles had laughed it off, but gotten them back by putting _pink_ hair dye in their shampoo.

“Never miss with the person in the household doing the groceries, children,” Charles had cheerfully told them when they stumbled down for breakfast, pink-haired and grumpy, while Charles’ own hair was back to its normal dark brown shade.

“I wish you’d taken pictures,” said Moira, shaking her head with amusement. She and Charles were sitting in their favorite coffeehouse, one of those new wave places that piped pseudo-indie music over the speakers and had highly Instagrammable interiors. Their breakup had been both mutual and amicable, so their weekly coffee dates in what was once “their” place were hardly awkward at all. “I’m so glad Erik’s children have finally met their match.”

“Don’t count them out just yet. The girls aren’t done, not by a long shot,” said Charles, sipping delicately at his cup of Earl Gray. “The boys aren’t really into the whole ‘drive away the nannies’ scheme, especially Darwin. Sean’s a bit of a troublemaker, but he’s no instigator. And Peter’s such a sweet boy, if a little - ” He thought of his wallet in Peter’s hands, and the proud grin above it. There was also an incident, a few days ago, where Peter had stolen Angel’s diary for him and Sean to make fun of. The resultant firefight had not been fun to clean up, but Charles suspected he’d gained ground with Angel when he promised not to tell Erik if she, Peter, and Sean helped him. “ - prone to taking other people’s things.”

“So the girls are the troublemakers?”

“Not so much the girls as Raven, really,” said Charles. “Angel and Jean look up to her - it’s only natural, being the only girls in a house of full of men. So Angel and Jean follow Raven’s lead, and Raven idolizes her father. And Erik...well.” Charles chuckled. “You could have warned me you were sending me to such a staunch separatist, Moira.”

“Ooh,” said Moira, waggling her eyebrows, “we’re on first-name terms with Mr. Lehnsherr, are we?”

“Shut up, you know it’s not like that,” Charles replied. “It would be completely inappropriate.”

“You’re no fun,” Moira chided. “What about the other one, Hank? He’s the same age as Raven, isn’t he? You haven’t mentioned him yet.”

Charles glanced around the coffeehouse - although what Hank would be doing here when he was supposed to be in class, he had no idea - and lowered his voice. “I think Hank’s seeing someone.”

Moira’s eyes widened. “Do tell,” she said, leaning in.

“You realize we’re getting our gossip fix over the love lives of teenagers, right?”

Moira snorted. “It’s not as if we’ve got anything better to talk about,” she said. “When’s the last time you got laid?”

Charles wondered if this was a conversation he ought to be having with his ex, of all people, but quickly dismissed the thought. The relationship had been a mistake, entered into after Sharon had cut off Charles once and for all and Moira’s divorce was finalized. They were close friends - best friends, if Charles was honest with himself - and he was only grateful the ill-advised romance hadn’t ruined that. “Not,” he said, “in a pathetically long while.”

His mind helpfully brought up images of Erik, while in the pool or running a lap around the neighborhood, or in one of those suits that looked tailor-fit to his exquisite build. Charles hadn’t had the chance to check yet, since he was always busy rousing the children or in the kitchen when Erik went off for his morning swim or run (and really, who needed to be exercising at _five in the morning_ , the lunatic), but he was willing to bet that his employer had magnificent abs, complete with those V-shaped cuts that disappeared into a guy’s pants and made smart people do stupid things.

“Same here,” said Moira, rolling her eyes. “So. Spill. Who’s Hank seeing?”

“I’m not sure,” Charles replied. “But he’s been sneaking out. For all that they’ve got a powerful telepath in their family none of them really know how to shield, and you know how the mind gets when it’s excited. It projects. I’m surprised Jean hasn’t heard anything.”

“You did say she’s untrained, maybe she doesn’t know what to listen for,” said Moira. “Anyway, what makes you so sure Hank’s seeing someone? I mean, that’s not the only reason to sneak out.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got Hank, a straight-A student with an incredibly bright future, who as far as I can tell has never even really toed the line regarding his father’s rules. Notwithstanding the children’s vendetta against nannies, of course. Why else would he be sneaking out?”

Moira took a sip of her caramel latte. “You have a point,” she conceded. “Are you going to talk to him about it?”

Charles frowned. “I’ll try,” he said. “Getting them to do as I say is one thing, inviting their confidence is another. These children - it’s like their father’s raising them with this ‘us against the world’ mentality. I’m not one to judge how a parent raises their kids, but it does make me curious.”

“Oh, Charles,” said Moira, shaking her head. “There you go again, trying to save the day. You can’t right all the wrongs in this world, you know.”

“I know.” Charles sighed, thinking of his seven charges, all such beautiful children, and their dark, brooding, exceedingly handsome father. What had happened to them, he wondered, that had made them so wary, so convinced that danger was around every corner?

 

* * *

 

**_5\. bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens_ **

Charles’ theory about Hank was finally proven one evening. He’d come home from school late, having stayed in the city several hours after his last class to work on a group project. He was so late that he’d arrived after Erik, whose work normally kept him in Manhattan well past quitting time. Luckily, it hadn’t been one of the days that Charles needed to pick up Raven, Hank, and Sean, and he’d put some leftovers in the fridge with concise reheating instructions written on a Post-It stuck to the microwave.

As was his habit, Charles scanned the minds present in the house, just ensuring that everyone was home. The first time he’d done it, Erik had been quick to demand an explanation, having felt the gentle brush against his mind. Charles had assured him that the quick sweep was not invasive - he could merely feel that they were there, and nothing more. It was merely his way of checking on things.

“Oh,” said Erik, mollified, not quite looking Charles in the eye. “I’m sorry.” He was clearly embarrassed at having overreacted, but Charles didn’t take offense. Not everyone was comfortable with telepathy, and Erik was being remarkably tolerant. Of course, it helped that Charles’ purpose had been the safety of Erik’s family.

At any rate, when Charles performed the usual sweep of the house, his mind brushed against seven others instead of the expected eight. He frowned and checked the garage - no, Erik’s car was there, and anyway, Charles could feel a presence inside his bedroom. He expanded the reach of his telepathy to the second floor, where he found only six minds, four of which were deep in the no man’s land of REM sleep.

 _Shite,_ Charles thought, dropping his things in the hallway. It was one of the kids.

He took the stairs two at a time, focusing on each room as he passed it. Raven was in her room, still awake, the strains of pop music floating through the door. Darwin, Sean, Jean, and Angel were fast asleep. Peter, judging by the images flitting through his mind, was playing a videogame.

Hank’s room was empty.

Charles considered a number of options - waking Erik, calling the police - before he remembered that he’d felt Hank sneaking out several times previously, and he’d always come back.

Well, tonight was as good a night as any to test the theory he’d posited to Moira.

He went back downstairs and, after checking to make sure Erik wasn’t going to wake up, crept out the front door. He stood on the sidewalk, glancing around, wondering where an amorous teenager would go for a night-time rendezvous with a sweetheart.

The park, Charles remembered, was quiet, surrounded by trees, and guaranteed to be deserted at this time of night.

Again, he was proved to be right. As he approached the playground, he reached out with his telepathy and felt the presence of two minds. He withdrew before Hank could sense him, then announced his presence with a loud clearing of his throat. The two were seated on a bench, kissing, and quickly pulled apart at Charles’ arrival.

Hank’s paramour was a young man, classically handsome with blond hair and a jawline for days. Charles’ mouth dropped open as he recognized the Summers boy from Hank’s soccer team, the one who, Angel had gleefully told him, had been responsible for Hank’s first ever detention.

“Hi, Charles,” said Hank awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um...have you met Alex?”

“Yes, I remember,” said Charles, fighting off a smile. He’d seen Alex - the whole team, in fact - on the field, the few times he’d arrived at school early enough that they weren’t done with practice yet. “Very nice to meet you, Alex, I’m Charles,” he said, extending a hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Alex choked out, a blush extending from his cheeks all the way down to his neck. “Should I - I have to get going - school tomorrow - ” he stammered, getting up from the bench. “I’ll text you,” he said to Hank before storming off, flipping up the hood on his jacket to obscure his face and hair.

Charles waited until Alex had rounded the corner before turning back to Hank with a smirk on his face. “So,” he said, “Alex Summers?”

Hank blushed and looked down. “How’d you know we were out here?”

“Got home late from class,” Charles replied. “I didn’t feel your presence in the house so I panicked, but I figured you’re not the type to sneak out for any troublesome purposes, so I decided not to wake your father and came to find you instead.”

“Thanks for that, I guess,” Hank muttered. He shuddered, evidently at the thought of Erik’s reaction if he’d discovered Hank sneaking out.

“So,” said Charles, sitting down on the bench next to Hank, “anything you’d like to tell me?”

 

*

 

Discovering that Hank and Alex were together, and subsequently agreeing to keep it a secret from Erik until Hank felt comfortable telling him, had put the second-eldest of the Lehnsherr children firmly on Charles’ side of the fence. They’d had a long talk that night in the park, where Charles had confessed his own struggle in coming to terms with his bisexuality. It only seemed right, having seen firsthand one of Hank’s secrets, to share something from Charles’ own past.

“Are you going to tell my dad?” Hank asked, subdued.

“No,” Charles said firmly. “I really think you should - Erik loves you all dearly, and he’d never do or say anything to hurt you. But that’s your choice, Hank. It shouldn’t be made for you. So I won’t say a thing to Erik, unless you want me to.”

They’d walked back to the house in silence, but the, “Thank you,” Hank murmured over his shoulder, just before returning to his bedroom, was heartfelt, and utterly warmed Charles to the bone.

Relations with the rest of the children were improving, overall. Darwin, easily the least hostile of the children, was a pleasure to be around, a bright and cheerful young man with, quite frankly, a mutation that Charles found nothing short of fascinating. Jean and Sean (and it always amused Charles to think of their names together like that, since they were spelled almost exactly the same and by rights should have rhymed, wasn’t the English language hilarious?) had even thawed towards him, both seeking his help with improving mastery of their powers.

Sean had been the first to approach Charles. One of his friends from choir had made the idle observation that, if Sean reached the right pitch with his sonic scream, he could probably fly. Envious of Angel’s wings and Jean’s telekinesis, Sean had made his mind up to ask Charles for help.

“You know,” said Charles, frowning the way he did when he was deep in thought, “your friend might be right. Let me see what I can do.”

The next day, Charles came back from his classes with what looked like a giant parachute. The children gathered around him, unable to hide their interest. “What’s all this?” Angel asked, prodding one end of the vast swathes of fabric with a toe.

“Sean’s wings,” said Charles, beaming up at them. “A friend of mine is an engineer, like your dad. He thinks your theory’s pretty sound, Sean. So he whipped these up.” He spread out the wings, which were patterned with yellow and black stripes. “Hit the ground with your soundwaves at the right angle, and they should carry you.”

It was difficult to get an excited, wiggly fifteen-year-old into the delicate wingsuit, but they managed. Charles, Sean, and the rest of the Lehnsherr brood legged it to Sean’s room on the second floor, where Charles helped Sean perch on the windowsill.

“Why not go up on the roof?” Peter offered innocently.

Charles rolled his eyes. “First of all, I don’t exactly have your father’s permission to do this,” he said, “and second, don’t think that sweet smile of yours is going to feel me any, Peter Lehnsherr. We don’t want anyone to end up with any broken bones, now do we?”

“No fun,” Peter grumped, but he stayed put, eager to see if Sean would achieve liftoff.

He most definitely did not.

“Hang on, Sean, we’ll be right down!” Charles called out the window. A story below them, Sean, face-planted on the front lawn, raised a thumb’s up. “If someone would be kind enough to fetch some ice, please?” Charles threw over his shoulder as he rushed outside to help.

Jean soon followed Sean’s lead. Apparently, Charles’ comment on shielding remained at the forefront of her mind, because she came home from school one day, marched straight to Charles’ room, and demanded that he teach her how.

“And your father’s agreed to this, has he?” Charles asked, raising an eyebrow. Luckily, Sean hadn’t broken anything, but Charles was no longer keen to try any further experimentation without Erik’s approval.

Jean looked away and shifted uneasily. “Not really,” she said. “But you know, I don’t really think he’d mind, and you said I needed to learn, so…” Her green eyes widened, and her lower lip wobbled ever so slightly. “ _Please?_ ”

So that was how Charles found himself sitting in the backyard with Jean, the two of them cross-legged in the grass, teaching her to shield.

“You’re trying too hard,” said Charles, feeling how Jean’s mind was struggling with the simple exercise he’d given her - imagining a wall going up, brick by brick, around her mind.

“I can’t, Charles, I just can’t,” Jean cried out. “It won’t stay _put_.”

“I can imagine,” Charles murmured. Jean’s telepathy was incredible. She was only thirteen, and she could do things in her sleep that Charles had struggled with when she was his age. It only made sense that she would have a hard time learning to contain all that raw power. “But that’s okay, Jean. You’ll get better. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, Charles guided Jean through the rudimentary steps of building her own shields until finally, she could put up a mild wall. Easily shattered by Charles’ powerful mental jabs, of course, but with that in place, he could no longer sense the presence of another telepath.

“Marvelous, Jean!” Charles cried out, clapping. He and Jean were floating in the air above the pool, and he could feel no trace of power coming from her mind. “Simply marvelous!”

Jean opened her eyes and let go of the shield, then floated them both back to solid ground. “You really couldn’t feel me?” she demanded.

Charles shook his head, beaming. “Not a thing, sweetheart,” he said. “That was really excellent, you’re bound to get better in no time!”

Jean’s brow furrowed. “We’re not done?”

“Oh, not at all!” said Charles, laughing. Jean was easily the most powerful of Erik’s children, and undoubtedly she was used to catching on to things much faster than her siblings. “But with enough practice, I bet even I won’t be able to break your shields.”

“ _Really?_ ”

“Really.”

Jean suddenly glanced up, and a wide smile appeared on her face. “Dad!” she cried out, scrambling to her feet. “Dad, Dad, did you see? Did you hear Charles? He said if I practiced hard enough even he couldn’t break my shields!”

Charles stood and followed Jean over to her father. Erik, standing by the glass doors that led back inside, had clearly just come home from work, as he was still carrying his car keys and briefcase. “Yes, _Liebling_ ,” he said, smiling slightly at Jean. “That was very good work.” He looked up at Charles. “Thank you, I’m sorry if Jean bothered you - ”

“Oh, not at all!” said Charles enthusiastically. “It was a pleasure. Jean’s a very capable student.”

“Yes, she is,” said Erik, in a tone of voice Charles couldn’t understand. “Er, I have some work to finish before dinner,” he continued, “I’ll just…” He trailed off, made an aborted movement toward Jean that Charles surmised might have been an attempt at a hug, before he settled for gently touching her cheek. Then he quickly retreated back into the house.

“Dad hasn’t called me that in a while,” Jean said quietly, staring at the empty space where her father had stood.

“What, _leeb-leeng_?” Charles said, stumbling around the word he’d heard. He ushered Jean back into the house and toward the kitchen to start on dinner, thinking that maybe Jean could give him a hand. Telekinetics were just as handy to have in the kitchen as their magnetic fathers, if not more so.

Jean giggled. “ _Liebling,_ ” she said, her German accent flawless. “He had nicknames for me, Raven, and Angel. Just us, because we were his baby girls,” she explained. “I was _Liebling_ and Angel was _Engelchen_ , and Raven…” Jean smiled. “Raven was his _Schatzi_.”  

Something in the way Jean pronounced the word brought a lump to Charles’ throat. “What does that mean?”

“It means ‘treasure’.”

Had Charles been the sort of man who had little to no control over his emotions, he knew he would have started bawling right then and there. As it was, he could feel the beginnings of tears prickling at his eyes.

“Why doesn’t he call you guys that anymore?”

“He hasn’t since Mom left,” a voice answered coldly.

“Hi, Raven,” said Jean quietly, suddenly looking small and frightened.

Her eldest sister stood in the doorway, in her normal blue-skinned form. Her amber eyes were narrowed dangerously, and she was staring at Charles with barely-concealed contempt. “It was five years ago,” she said, walking up to the fridge and grabbing herself a Coke, “when she realized we weren’t worth it.”

“Raven - ” Jean began, but fell silent at the quelling look thrown her way.

“It was Peter turning out to be a mutant too that did it, I think,” said Raven casually. “We were eight mutants in the house and she was just one human. She couldn’t do it. Then she realized she didn’t have to. So she left. It’s just been us, ever since. We’ve never needed anyone else, and we never will.”

And with that, soda in hand, Raven walked out.

 

* * *

 

**_6\. brown paper packages tied up with strings_ **

Despite himself, Erik couldn’t get the image out of his mind. Charles, levitating above the pool with Jean, his blue eyes dancing with excitement as he helped his youngest daughter build her shields. He knew Charles and his children were bonding, and that Charles was seeing a side to them that even he, Erik, hadn’t seen - not in five years, anyway, since Magda broke all their hearts.

Raven, of course, remained distant and hostile. But Erik could see the others were beginning to come around. Hank and Darwin could often be found shadowing Charles, asking for his opinion on everything from prospective colleges to the latest in mutant legislation. Jean practiced with him daily, strengthening her own powers. Sean had yet to achieve flight, but Charles’ willingness to help him out had touched the boy greatly. Angel’s grades, which had always hovered around average, began to pick up, thanks to the after-school tutoring she was getting from Charles.

Even Peter, shy as he’d been when he’d first met Charles, had finally warmed up to him. Charles had come to Erik one evening to tell him about a neighborhood bully, Billy Jebel, who lived across the street. Apparently, every time little Billy misplaced something, he’d told his mother that Peter had taken it. And Mrs. Jebel, prejudiced as she was, was only too willing to believe that the mutant with powers of superspeed had taken her darling boy’s things.

“But why didn’t Mrs. Jebel ever come to me if she suspected Peter was stealing from her son?” asked Erik, frowning.

“Because she’s afraid of you,” Charles said bluntly. “So she takes it out on Peter instead. When she sees him on the way to the park or the bus stop, she calls him a freak, says he’s not wanted in polite society.”

Erik felt his hackles rise, and he knew that, if it were anybody else telling him that they’d overheard someone saying such wretched things to one of his kids, he’d be up on his feet and halfway out the door by now, ready to raise hell. As it is, he knew Charles, knew the man’s love for the children, and instead waited to hear how he’d dealt with it. “So what did you do?”

Charles smirked. “Had a good, long talk with her about her son being a liar,” he said innocently.

Erik wasn’t fooled, not one bit. “And then…?”

“And then she spent the rest of the day feeling unbearably itchy.”

Erik smiled. He knew his children - and the rest of the free world - found that smile unsettling, but he couldn’t help it. Charles, it seemed, was as much a prankster as his young charges.

“And how is Peter?”

“I talked to him about not protecting bullies,” said Charles. “You know how ten-year-olds are. Tattling is the worst crime one can commit. But we’ve come to an agreement, Peter and me,” he added, beaming. “If it’s harmless playground teasing, I’ve agreed to leave it alone. But anything more serious than that, and he’s to come to you or me at once.”

And that, right there, caused a frisson of warmth to run through Erik. He should have been irritated at the idea of Charles co-parenting his children, but it was hard to think of the man as presumptuous when he was so earnest in caring for the children.

Truthfully, Erik, too, found himself falling under the spell Charles was weaving around the family. He felt caught in the midst of a tug-of-war. At one end were his fears of losing the children, the sharp bite of terror in his heart, memories from the nightmare they’d suffered together that not even ten years of safety could dampen. At the other was the thought of Charles, with his warm smile and warm heart, who talked to the children about their dreams and hopes and futures, who always had a minute to spare and a hot meal ready for them anytime they needed it.

Aside from the fact that Charles clearly loved his children, the fact that he was also incredibly brilliant certainly helped in furthering Erik’s attraction to him. They had progressed from light discussions while Charles made dinner to actual, full-on debates that lasted well into the night. It had started when Charles had stumbled across an old chess set in the closet in his room, hidden underneath a pile of ugly cardigans (despite the children’s best efforts, Charles just wouldn’t budge on his sartorial choices).

“Is this yours?” Charles asked, showing Erik the chess set when he came home. “I found it in my room.”

Erik picked up the board, feeling the metal-wrapped pieces inside with his power. “Yes,” he said. “I’d forgotten I had this.” He chuckled at the memory. “I wouldn’t let Peter have ice cream for dinner, so he stole this from my room and hid it. I suppose the attic was as good a place as any.” He waggled the board. “Do you play?”

The way that Charles brightened made something in Erik’s heart clench. “I do!” he said. “My father taught me how. We used to play a lot before - ” He stopped suddenly, determinedly avoiding Erik’s gaze. “Well, we used to play a lot,” he finished lamely.

Erik decided not to pry. He knew Charles, a telepath powerful enough to be showing Jean a few new tricks, could easily have the truth about the Lehnsherr family’s past straight out of his mind with hardly any effort, and it was only his own scruples that was preventing him from doing so. The least Erik could do was not ask questions.

“Come on, then,” said Erik. “I’ll go easy on you.”

He led the way to his study, the one room in the house that, aside from Erik’s bedroom, Charles had never been in. Of course, the thought introduced all sorts of inappropriate ideas about what Charles could be doing in Erik’s bedroom, which he quickly shoved aside.

There was a little coffee table to one side, with two squashy and overstuffed armchairs, right beneath the window. Erik began to set up the chessboard on it, graciously allowing Charles to choose both a seat and color. “I’ll take the black, if you don’t mind,” said Charles agreeably, settling himself into the comfier chair.

Charles turned out to be quite a good player, despite his assertions that he hadn’t played in a while. Erik won their first game, but he’d really had to work for it.

“Rematch?” Charles asked, grinning.

From then on, unless Erik had to stay late at work or Charles had something to work on after class, they ended their day with a few games in Erik’s study. At first, their chitchat over these games consisted of nothing more than updates on the children, but then Charles mentioned a paper he was writing on the use of suppressants and dampeners on mutants who worked for the government, and that had set Erik off.

Charles listened to Erik’s impassioned rant about how dampeners and suppressants were oppressive and dangerous, nodding at appropriate points as needed. When Erik took a breath, Charles said, very quietly, “I used to take them, when I was a kid.”

Erik struggled not to visibly react. He recognized that this was something important, something deeply personal that Charles was sharing with him. Against all odds, he felt that he and his children’s new nanny were, at the very least, becoming friends, and he’d hate to do anything to ruin that.

“What for?” he asked instead, looking up from the chessboard where a rook was moving three spaces to its left. The pieces were wood and metal, which allowed Erik to play hands-free.

“I took them for my mother,” said Charles. He refused to meet Erik’s gaze, instead focusing on his next move. “I first started hearing voices in my head when I was five. Mother reveled in the attention from countless doctors who told her I had multiple personality disorder, schizophrenia, psychosis, manic depression. She considered it _edgy_ , you see, to have a child diagnosed with a mental disorder.” Charles moved one of his bishops. “Of course when one doctor finally thought to test for the X-gene and it turned out the voices I was hearing were other people’s voices, she was less pleased.”

“She was scared?”

“Yeah,” said Charles, nodding. “She didn’t understand - didn’t want to, either. All she knew was that she had a freak of nature for a son.”

Erik was outraged. He contemplated himself as a normal man, human, married to Magda under more appropriate circumstances, and celebrating Peter’s arrival in their lives. He couldn’t imagine anything less than the overwhelming love he felt for his children, mutant or no. “She _said_ that to you?” he demanded. “She called you a freak?”

“No, no, it was much worse,” said Charles, smiling sardonically. “She never said anything to my face, and certainly not while my dad was alive. But I could hear her, up here.” He tapped his forehead. “It was worse because I knew those were her deepest, innermost thoughts. You can’t lie in your head. And in there, I could feel how much she hated me.” He shrugged. “So I got a prescription and started taking the suppressants, just so I’d stop hearing what she was thinking. Back then, I still gave a damn.”

“What’s happened since then?” Erik was still feigning a casualness he did not feel, idly causing his queen to move in a diagonal line up the board.

“My father died.” Charles responded to the queen’s threat by moving a knight. “He was the only one whose mind I felt safe touching. He never thought I was a freak. He was never scared of me. I would spend as much time in his office as I could, just to avoid Mother. That was when he taught me how to play.” He waved a hand at the chessboard. “He died of cancer when I was thirteen. I was about to leave for Oxford. Part of the reason why I pushed myself so hard academically was because I wanted to get out of the house as soon as possible. With Dad gone, I realized that there was no longer any reason for me to care what Mother thought. I went to university and decided I was going to do something to make sure no mutant child ever feels the way I did ever again.”

Erik swallowed around a lump in his throat. In his mind’s eye he could see sad, lonely Charles Xavier, thirteen and newly robbed of the only adult in the world that he felt cared about him. “So that’s why you decided to work with the X-gene?” he asked, remembering that his first master’s degree was in genetics.

“I figured it would be good to get a base understanding of mutants in general,” Charles murmured.

“Then when I finished my master’s in genetics, I figured out what I really wanted to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Start a school,” said Charles, and it was remarkable how utterly transformed his face was. Moments ago he’d been morose, unresponsive, unwillingly drawn back to the past; but now his eyes were sparkling, those red lips curved into a broad smile. “I want to start a school for mutant children.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were all about integrating mutantkind into human society,” he said, just the slightest hint of mocking in his tone, enough to draw out a laugh.

It worked. Charles chuckled and shook his head. “I’m an advocate for peace, not hopelessly naive,” he said. He finally looked up and met Erik’s gaze. Those blue eyes were striking, and if Erik were prone to thinking in flowery prose - which he was not, thank you very much - he’d think of cornflowers, or the sky above the Arctic, or the clear water of a mountain lake. “Society has made great leaps and bounds in mutant acceptance, but we’ve got a long way to go. And mutants - mutant children, especially - deserve a safe space to live and grow and learn.”  

“That’s actually a really good idea,” said Erik. “God knows, I’d love a place to send all my brats to,” he added. “Save myself the trouble of going gray well before my time.”

Charles snorted. “Please,” he said. “You’d be one of those parents calling me up everyday to check up on them.” His eyes softened. “But if I ever managed to open a school, Erik, I’d absolutely love to have your children as students. They’re a delight.”

“Even Raven?” Erik asked, smirking.

“Yes,” Charles replied honestly, “even Raven.”

 

*

 

The fifth time they spent the evening playing chess, Charles brought home a bottle of scotch.

“Can we have some?” Sean asked, when Charles walked into the house carrying a reusable shopping bag, the top of a bottle sticking out.

Charles did a quick headcount. All children were present and accounted for, gathered around the kitchen island to do homework and snack on the cookies Charles had made yesterday. He frowned at that - they were going to ruin their appetites - but decided to let it go. At least they were doing homework, and he was a big believer in picking your battles. “No, you may not.”

“What’s in there, anyway?” said Angel. “Vodka? Ooh, can we make vodka cranberries? Those are delicious! There’s cranberry juice in the fridge.”

“I don’t even want to know how you know what a vodka cranberry tastes like, Angel.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Charles, you’re so naive,” she said dismissively.

Charles sighed. “So your father tells me.”

He didn’t see, but at the mention of those words, Angel’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. She and the rest of the children exchanged significant looks, but said nothing.

“If any of you need me,” said Charles, “I’ll be in your father’s office.”

Angel’s eyes were positively bug-like at that, and Sean waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Neither of which Charles saw as he made his way to Erik’s study. He set up the chessboard on the little table by the window, and left the bottle of scotch and two glasses next to it. With an hour or so left before Erik got home, Charles made himself comfortable at his desk with a laptop and a couple of heavy reference books, and got to work on a term paper.

Forty-five minutes later, Charles found himself being shaken awake. He blinked and looked up into the greenest pair of eyes he’d ever seen. “Did you know the appearance of green eyes comes from Tyndall scattering in the stroma?” he murmured. “The pigmentation of the human iris is actually black or brown, depending on the melanin concentration…”

He felt, rather than heard, Erik’s chuckle. “Good evening, Charles.”

Charles sat up and stretched like a cat. “Good evening,” he said around his yawn. “Sorry about that, I was working on a paper.”

“Yes.” Erik picked up one of the books, a treatise advocating for mainstreaming mutant children from their formative years, and held it up. “You’ve read Dr. Frost’s works?” he asked, handing it back. The author’s name at the bottom of the book was printed in delicate script. _Dr. Emma Frost, Ph.D._

“I’ve been following her career _obsessively_ ,” Charles enthused, putting away his books and laptop. “She’s done so much in the field of early mutant child education.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that,” Erik replied, sounding odd, and strangely refusing to meet Charles’ eyes. He spared a moment to wonder how Erik, an engineer, would know Dr. Frost, but then shrugged and let it be.

“Do you drink?” he asked, taking what he now considered to be his seat. “I brought this along, just in case. Present from Moira.” He grinned. “To celebrate two months.” Hardly any time at all, in the grander scheme of things. But Charles felt like it had been a lifetime since he’d last felt this comfortable in his surroundings. He still despised Sharon Xavier for everything she’d done to him, but he had to admit if his mother hadn’t cut him off, he’d never have met Erik or his delightful children.

“Kind of her,” Erik replied, taking his own seat across from Charles. He reached out for the bottle and poured them two glasses, handing one to Charles, then began their game by nudging a pawn forward. “How did you and Moira meet, anyway?”

Charles laughed. “I don’t suppose Moira told you we used to date?”

“She did, actually.” Erik smirked. “I know Moira has a predilection for remaining friends with her exes, but you two seem a lot closer than that.”

“Oh, we are,” Charles replied, nodding fervently. “We met when I was working with the State Department of Education. They’d just created a mutant division to handle MDCs and the like. At the time, Moira was a teacher at the Lewisham Academy.”

“I’m familiar with Lewisham,” said Erik. The private school in Massachusetts was one of the first all-mutant schools in the country. Its headmaster, Logan Howlett, was as no-nonsense as they came, admired and hated in equal measures depending on the person’s stance regarding mutant integration.

“We worked together on improving the state of MDCs in public schools in New York,” Charles continued. “I had just started at my second master’s degree from Columbia, and Moira was contemplating getting one as well. We started dating after - ” His face fell, remembering that night of wild, drunken abandon, both he and Moira tired and heartbroken and looking for comfort. “My mother gave me an ultimatum,” he continued. “Either ‘stop with all this mutant integration nonsense’ - ” He looked up and was gratified to see the look of outrage on Erik’s face. “ - or she’d cut me off. She wanted a doctor or a lawyer, someone she could parade at parties so people could praise her for having such an accomplished son.” 

“And yet you chose to continue,” Erik prompted.

“Course I did,” said Charles, smiling grimly. “I’d already decided that she was done dictating how my life went. I have a trust fund from my father that even she can’t touch, but I’m saving that to put into the school I’m planning to build. And anyway, I’m at Columbia on a full ride, and I’ve had some part-time jobs that paid the bills. Of course,” he added sardonically, “it’s not exactly easy to live in New York City on minimum wage.”

“How long ago did your mother cut you off?”

“About a year, I think,” said Charles. “At the time, Moira was going through a divorce,” he added, not wanting to dwell on the subject of his mother. “Same old story - they’d married young, regretted everything that had happened since then, all that rubbish.” It was an old, familiar story that no longer embarrassed Charles, but saying it here, to Erik, made a warm blush creep up his cheeks. “We - erm, we got drunk and - ”

“No need to elaborate,” Erik interrupted, grinning mischievously.

“We tried being together, but eventually we realized we were better off as friends. So we broke up but remained close. She quit her job at Lewisham and came to New York, got into Columbia, and started a nanny agency,” Charles finished, spreading his hands wide. “And so here we are.”

“And so here we are,” said Erik agreeably. “Check,” he added, a rook sliding forward.

 

*

 

“What about you?” Charles asked. “How did you meet Moira?”

Erik contemplated his next move, sipping lightly at the scotch Charles had brought. It was marvelous. Who knew Moira had such good taste? “My wife had just left me,” he began, slowly, unsure of his next words. He wished he could just tell Charles to use his telepathy, delve into his mind and look at his memories so he wouldn’t have to relive the pain.

“I can, you know,” said Charles softly. “I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to intrude - but you were thinking very loudly.” He lifted two fingers to Erik’s temple. “May I?”

Erik waited a beat, then nodded.

 

*

 

_Five years into what Erik thinks is going to be the rest of their lives together, on a bright, beautiful Saturday morning, Magda leaves._

_He wakes up that morning thinking he’s going to see his wife, her lovely face, the curve of her porcelain cheek, her lips slightly parted in her sleep. He opens his eyes expecting to roll over and kiss her good morning, and instead he finds a letter._

_The words it contains are like knives, sharp and treacherous in Erik’s heart, worse than anything Shaw could ever do to him._ I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry, _the letter reads._ I thought I knew what I was getting into, but I didn’t. _He clutches the letter close and allows himself the luxury of a few tears slipping down his cheeks, before he hears the noise of the children waking, and he has to get up._

_Raven and Hank are godsends, truly. They take one look at his pale, stricken face and herd the younger ones into the kitchen, presiding over breakfast like a pair of little generals. It’s even their idea to get out of the house._

_“Papa,” little Raven says, “I think we should go to the playground.” She casts a significant glance at Hank._

_“Yeah,” Hank adds. “I have some reading to finish, and the others could use some fresh air.”_

_Erik wants to cry. His children sound much too old for their years, and it hurts Erik to his deepest depths to hear it. Still, he’s absurdly grateful, and he nods. “Go on and get dressed, then,” he says. Raven grins and morphs into the usual form she wears outside, that of a blond girl with beguiling blue eyes, now wearing a pair of jeans and a sweater. “No,_ Schatzi _, real clothes please,” Erik adds, smiling._

_Hank rolls his eyes with all the indignation of a twelve-year-old boy putting up with his sister. “C’mon, Raven,” he says, tugging her away. “We’ll have everyone ready and waiting downstairs, Dad.”_

_The little family - eight of them now, instead of the nine Erik expected - make their way to the neighborhood playground. Erik can feel the beginning of a headache behind his eyes, and it’s a wonder every piece of metal they pass - the neighbors’ fences, their fancy cars - don’t start bending themselves out of shape. But if there’s one thing Shaw has taught Erik, it’s how to control what he can do._

_They arrive at their destination soon enough and the prospect of playtime stalls the inevitable question of where their mother is. Angel and Darwin have, for once, put aside their superiority over the younger Sean, Jean, and Peter and indulged them in a game of tag. Raven is sitting on one of the swings, flipping through one of her ridiculous preteen magazines, and Hank is seated on the swing next to her, nose buried in a copy of the fifth_ Harry Potter _book._

 _Erik sits down on the nearest bench and thinks. He looks at each of his children and cannot understand how Magda could bear to leave. He sees his girls, his beautiful_ Schatzi _, his fiery_ Engelchen _, and his precious_ Liebling _, and cannot comprehend how a mother could not love them with everything she had. He looks at brilliant Hank, thoughtful Darwin, energetic Sean, and sweet little Peter and wonders why she wouldn’t stay._

Because of who we are. _The thought worms its way into Erik’s mind._ Because of what we can do. _For all that he loves - loved? - Magda, there’s a part of his and their children’s lives that she cannot share in, that maybe, just maybe, she fears. And that, Erik suddenly realizes, is what drove her away._

_He can physically feel the hatred forming in his heart, his love for Magda souring and turning into white-hot anger. How dare she? Mutant or no, how could she turn her back on these children who, for five years, had called her mother? It was unforgivable._

_“Are they all yours?”_

_The voice is sweet, quiet, politely inquiring. Erik looks up and sees a woman, younger than him, lovely, but nowhere near as beautiful as Magda. She has long brown hair, warm brown eyes, and a smile that makes Erik think of sunlight._

_“Moira MacTaggart,” she says, extending a hand. “Sorry to interrupt. I was in the neighborhood visiting some relatives and - ” She gestures at the children, all of whom have stopped playing and are watching their father. “You have a very lovely family.”_

_“Thank you,” says Erik stiffly. He’s not in the mood for light conversation._

_“I’m sorry, please don’t think me rude, but - are they all mutants?” Moira inquires, and fear grips Erik like a fist made of ice. “Only, I happened to see your girl there, the redhead, floating. Is she a telekinetic?”_ _  
_

_“That’s really none of your business,” Erik snarls. His instinct, to fight, to defend, hums right underneath his skin, and before he knows it the swings are crumpling, the jungle gym bending out of shape, every last bit of metal in the playground priming itself to be ripped out of the ground and ready to attack._

_Moira’s eyes are wide and fearful, but she stands her ground, holds up her hands, and stammers out, “I - I didn’t mean any harm! I’m sorry, I just thought - ”_

_“Dad!” Jean cries out, running up to him. She’s quickly followed by the rest of her siblings, and Erik knows each of them is ready as he is, willing to fight to protect their family, and he can’t decide if he’s so proud of them, or heartbroken at the thought that this is something they need to know how to do._

_“Dad, it’s okay,” says Jean breathlessly. “She’s okay. I can feel it. She’s okay.”_

_Reluctantly, Erik releases the tendrils of power that had crept into the metal, and the swings and monkey bars and slides turn back into mere playthings. “What do you want?” he asks suspiciously. Jean is powerful, but she’s only eight, and an eight-year-old telepath can be fooled._

_“Well,” says Moira, fumbling in her coat pocket for something, “I wanted to ask if they’re all mutants because…” She produces a card and hands it over._ MacTaggart Nanny Agency, _it reads, underneath which is a phone number and an address in the city._ _“I started the business a few months ago,” she explains, “and, to be honest, not many nanny agencies are willing to take on a family with this many mutant children. A pity, I think,” she adds, smiling at the children. “You all seem wonderful. Anyway, I just wanted to say, if you needed any help with them, you can give me a call.”_

_Raven steps forward challengingly, her eyes narrowed in a manner Erik knows she learned from him. “I’m Raven,” she says, her form rippling into bright blue scales._

_To her everlasting credit, Moira doesn’t even blink. “Hello, Raven, it’s nice to meet you,” she says, her smile unwavering, her hand extended._

_Slowly, Raven takes Moira’s hand._

 

*

 

Erik’s vision blurred, and suddenly the image of Raven’s small hand in Moira’s turned to his, held in Charles’ dry, warm grasp.

“Thank you, Erik,” he said softly. “That was a very beautiful memory.”

“I didn’t know I still had that,” Erik replied, still feeling within him the hope that had blossomed, the thought that everything was going to be okay. Magda had gone and he was on his own to raise seven children, but they were wonderful children, and there were people who could help, and it was all going to be okay. “The memory of my wife leaving...I thought I would have nothing there but pain.”

Charles smiled, with far too much understanding in his blue, blue eyes. “There’s so much more to you than you know,” he said. “Not just pain and anger. There’s good too. And love. I felt it.”

Coming from him, this young man Erik had known for such a short time, and who, somehow, had managed to inexorably insinuate himself in all their lives, Erik could believe it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am filled with so much love and appreciation for each and everyone of you who comments, leaves kudos, and just plain reads and enjoys this story! Thank you so much! 
> 
> A lot of you have expressed curiosity about what happened to Erik and the children in the past. Well, this chapter hopefully answers a few of those questions...
> 
> More nickname usage ahoy, this time in Russian. As always, if I've gotten it wrong, please correct me!
> 
> About Erik being able to sense gold jewelry in this chapter - according to Marvel Wiki, Erik's powers work on non-ferrous metals as well as ferrous metals. I don't know if this is contradicted in any of the earlier comics, so I'm gonna go with that.
> 
> On with the show!

**_7\. girls in white dresses with diamond skin and telepathic powers_ **

For the first time in ten years, Erik could almost allow himself to believe in a fantasy. Charles had brought a sense of normalcy to the family that none of them knew they’d desperately needed. As the two grew closer through the combined effort of nightly chess games, debates, discussions, and the shared responsibility of the children, Erik even began to forget that Charles was an employee.

Oh, he had no illusions that Charles was attracted to him - what could he, a single father of seven with a shadowy past, ever offer someone as handsome and brilliant as Charles? - but there were times that Erik wondered what it would be like, if he wasn’t as broken as he was, and he and Charles were involved beyond what they were to each other now. They could live the rest of their lives together like this, playing chess and confiding in each other, raising the children with the easygoing affection that Erik had long ago foregone to ensure their safety.

Even the children, Erik reflected, could see that Charles was getting to him. They had taken to saying ‘Dad and Charles’, like they were a cohesive unit. Erik had first heard the phrase from Darwin, on the phone with a friend asking him out to a movie. “Hang on,” he said. “I have to ask Dad and Charles.” He beamed innocently up at them. “Can I go see _The Conjuring 2_ with my friends tonight?”

“Which friends are these?” Erik asked, frowning.

“You’ve met them, Dad,” said Darwin patiently. “Petra and Suzanne? We have English together.” He looked pleadingly at Charles. “Please, Charles?”

“That’s really up to your father, Darwin,” Charles demurred.

Erik raised an eyebrow. “Do _you_ think he should go?”

Charles shrugged. “As long as he keeps his phone on him, texts you where he is, and comes home before his curfew, I don’t see why not.”

Erik thought for a bit. He trusted Charles’ judgment, and he _had_ met and vetted Suzanne Chan and Petra Raggi, as he did all his children’s friends. They were both mutants, nice girls from good families, with human parents who were proud of their daughters’ mutations and had absolutely no possible connection to Shaw. “Okay,” he said. “But be home by eleven.”

Darwin’s eyes widened, but he didn’t hesitate. Permission to go out with friends was a rare enough commodity in the Lehnsherr house, and he wouldn’t waste it. “Thanks Dad and Charles!” he cried out, pausing only to give each of them a brief hug.

Charles looked stunned, staring at Darwin as he shrugged on a jacket and hurried out the door. He smiled, a sappy, foolish little grin that Erik recognized as the smile of an adult utterly besotted with a child, and thought that there were worse things than having to share his children’s affections with this man.

That incident had opened the floodgates. The rest of the children realized that, by coursing their requests through Charles, they could get what they wanted (within reason, of course, because Erik had to put his foot down on _some_ things, and Charles would never challenge Erik’s parental authority). It was a welcome change from Erik’s previous policy on going out with friends, which Angel liked to joke involved a fifty-page application form in triplicate and a waiting period of seven business days.

Even Raven, who still hadn’t warmed up to Charles, seemed to grudgingly accept the effect he had on her father. She asked permission to stay extra late at school, to perfect a particularly complicated routine, while Charles was in the room. “Of course, Raven,” said Erik, glancing at Charles.

“I can pick you up,” Charles offered. “I’ve got enough cash for a cab.” Living rent-free with Erik had drastically improved Charles’ circumstances, to the point that he could afford to take cabs into the city to pick up the children as needed, using his own money. Of course, Erik always quashed those offers.

“I can drive,” said Erik quickly, before he could second-guess himself. “I’ve got nothing better to do tomorrow night, anyway.”

Which was how the following night, Raven found herself picked up from school by what her friends on the squad said was her “hot dad” and his “hot new husband”. She watched Erik and Charles making polite conversation with the other parents also there to pick up their children and resisted the urge to collapse on the ground in a dejected, humiliated heap.

“Are you gonna introduce us to your new dad?” Irene Adler, the squad captain, whispered in Raven’s ear, stifling a giggle with her hand. “He’s really cute.”

“He’s _not_ my new dad,” Raven hissed through gritted teeth.

The pretense of a family life that they’d built, however, crumbled one day, when, at work, Erik received a call from an unknown number. There was no country code, meaning that the call was coming from a satellite phone. And there was only one person Erik knew who would be contacting him using one.

He stepped out into the hallway, not wanting Janos to hear this conversation. With a sigh, he answered the call and brought the phone up to his ear. “Hello, Emma.”

“Why, sugar, you don’t sound too happy to hear from me. How impolite.”

“Every time I hear from you,” said Erik, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I end up having to lie to my children, not to mention spend a great deal of time away from home. So do forgive me for not being particularly chipper when you call.”

“Oh, really, all these theatrics. Come now, darling, when have I ever steered you wrong?”

“Get to the point, Emma.”

“You take all the fun out of everything.” At once, Emma’s voice lost its teasing tone. “I think I’ve done it,” she said, clipped and precise and no-nonsense. “I think they’re all gone.”

Erik’s heartbeat sped up and his mouth went dry. “ _All_ of them?” he demanded. “They’re all gone? You’re positive?”

“That’s the thing,” said Emma. “All of _Shaw’s_ associates are gone. But I’m hearing…chatter.”

“What kind of chatter?”

“About a new player in town.” There was a clink over the phone, perhaps a teacup being replaced in its saucer. “I’d rather not talk over the phone. How soon can you be here?”

Erik rolled his eyes. “And where is ‘here’, exactly?”

Emma laughed. “Vienna, sugar. Didn’t I say?”

Vienna. Last he’d heard from her, she’d been in Morocco, chasing down a lead. Erik knew most of Shaw’s followers had scattered to Africa or Asia, where there were countries aplenty with which the United States did not have extradition treaties. If she was back in Europe, that meant either she was finally done, or another serious player was emerging.

Erik did a mental run-through of his schedule. “How serious is this chatter?”

He could almost see Emma’s cold, lovely eyes narrow. “Very.”

“I’ll be there by tomorrow.”

 

*

 

“Are you _sure_ you’ll be all right?”

“We’ll be fine,” Charles insisted. “The children and me, we’re going to have a grand old time. Aren’t we, kids?”

The only reply was a chorus of grunts and other vague noises of acknowledgement. It was Happy Homework Hour at Mutant Manor (Raven’s term, not Charles’), which meant all seven children were in the kitchen or living room, doing schoolwork. It irritated Raven to see her siblings observing Charles’ rules, like _all homework must be completed before television or videogames_ , or _no spitting contests in the next door neighbor’s backyard (especially applicable to Angel)_.

Once upon a time they’d chafed at such restrictions being placed on them, and any attempt at doing so was met with fierce resistance. But now, they were all happily obeying Charles’ every command, from eating their vegetables to not giving their teachers a hard time - not even the ones who showed, in the smallest of ways, that they didn’t want to be teaching mutants, because, “Dealing with people like that is my and your dad’s job, and yours is to stay in school, get good grades, and prove them all wrong.”

 _What a load of crap,_ thought Raven viciously.

“You have my cell phone number,” said Erik, “and I’ll text you my number at the hotel once I’ve gotten it.”

“Yes, Erik.”

“You can email me too.”

“Yes, Erik.” Charles was smiling. “Go on, now. Your taxi’s waiting.”

“Yes. Right. Children,” Erik called out, “I’m going now. Be good for Charles.”

“Bye Dad,” they all chorused, looking up from their homework to wave goodbye.

“We’ll be good,” added Peter, grinning in a way that suggested he wasn’t going to be.

“Peter…” said Erik warningly.

“We’ll be fine, Erik, really,” said Charles. “The airplane waits for no man.”

“It’s the time and tide that wait for no man, actually,” said Hank helpfully.

Charles looked like he was visibly refraining from rolling his eyes. “Yes, thank you, Hank,” he said. “ _Go_ , Erik. The house will still be standing by the time you come back, I promise.”

With a last round of waves and hugs for the boys and kisses for the girls (and really, Raven couldn’t remember the last time their father was so openly affectionate with them - it was a little disconcerting, but also really _nice_ ), Erik floated his bags over to the taxi, climbed in, and was on his way. Charles waited until the cab was out of sight before shutting the door behind him.

“Conference my _ass_ ,” Sean said, once Erik was gone.

“Sean, language,” said Charles warningly, but Raven could see in his face that he was intrigued.

She practically jumped at the opportunity to sow a little discord. “Dad always does this,” she said, slamming her algebra textbook shut. “Jets off somewhere for a few weeks a year for a ‘conference’. Does he think we don’t notice who he spends all his time with?”

Her siblings, just as eager to complain, all began chiming in. “It’s that _Emma_ lady,” said Peter, wrinkling his nose with distaste. “Dad’s boss’s sister. He says they’re just friends but he goes to see her a _lot_.”

“She’s never in the same place when he does, too,” Hank added, frowning. “It’s so weird. He’s going to Vienna now, right? Last year he went to visit her in Johannesburg. The year before that, it was Tokyo.”

“How do you know that?” Charles asked.

Hank flushed. “I may or may not have hacked his phone’s GPS,” he mumbled.

“I think he’s in love with her,” Sean grumped. “Why else would he be seeing her so often? And in so many places?”

“He’s never taken us to meet her,” said Darwin diplomatically, “so it can’t be _that_ serious.”

“I’d have loved to go to Japan,” Angel sighed dramatically. “I want to go shopping in Harajuku.” She scowled. “I bet Dad bought Emma all sorts of things in Harajuku.”

“You’re much prettier,” Darwin assured her.

“And you dress much better,” Jean added.

“I’ll say,” Raven snorted. “Who wears _white leather?_ ”

Charles laughed. “That does sound uncomfortable,” he allowed. “You’re very lovely, Angel,” he said to her. “Not a woman in this world could hold a candle to you. Except Raven and Jean, naturally,” he conceded, when Jean harrumphed.  

Angel giggled and preened, allowing her wings to peel off from her shoulders and flutter coquettishly in the air. “Anyway,” she said breezily, “she uses too much blue eyeshadow. Not that blue isn’t a good color,” she added, when Raven and Hank turned to her with identical glares.

“Hang on,” said Charles, raising his hands. “Jean, you said this woman Erik’s been seeing is named Emma? And she’s his boss’s sister?”

“Yup!” said Jean, nodding. “Her brother’s Christian Frost, Dad’s boss.” She went back to her homework, having quickly lost interest in the conversation now that no one was insulting the aforementioned Emma Frost.

Charles paled and suddenly looked subdued. Raven wondered why.

“I see,” he said quietly. “Well, children,” he continued, making a visible effort to sound more cheerful, “I’d better get started on dinner if we’re going to be eating before midnight. Back to your homework, everybody,” he added, making shooing motions.

Raven felt a little twinge in her stomach, and she violently shushed the voice that suddenly piped up in her head telling her that maybe she should not have brought up Emma Frost.

 

*

 

Dinner was as loud and boisterous as always, although Charles didn’t feel like partaking in the usual conversation. But he forced himself to inquire after Hank’s latest experiment, tut over Darwin failing his first road test (for which Hank and Raven, who’d long ago passed theirs, teased him mercilessly), praise Angel’s A-minus on a history exam, and scold Peter for using his superspeed to play a prank on a teacher.

“He couldn’t prove it was me, though,” Peter pointed out.

“That doesn’t give you the right to put tacks on the teacher’s chair, Peter,” said Charles sternly. “All right, who showed him _The Incredibles_?” he asked, addressing the table at large.

There was a moment of silence before Sean took credit, snickering and exchanging a high-five with his youngest brother.

It was a relief to return to his room in the attic, safely isolated from the rest of the house. Here, he could stop being Charles the nanny, whose only concern was the children’s health, comfort, and happiness; and start being plain old Charles, twenty-four years old, genius, and desperately attracted to his employer.

Of _course_ he was seeing someone. Of _course_ it was Emma bloody Frost, only the most brilliant mind in the field of mutant child education. And why not? Obviously, they had history together. He knew Erik worked at Frost Industries, but hadn’t made the connection between the CEO, Christian Frost, and his idol, Dr. Emma Frost. Clearly, she and Erik had met at some official gala or some such thing and had hit it off magnificently, if these annual jaunts to wherever Emma happened to be were any indication.

In a fit of masochism, Charles grabbed his textbook, the one Erik had been so interested in (and of course he would be, if that was his girlfriend’s name on the front cover), and flipped to the ‘About the Author’ page on the back flap of the book jacket. Above all the accolades and accomplishments was a photo of an exquisitely beautiful blonde, with porcelain skin and long-lashed blue eyes, red lips parted in a beguiling smile that showed perfectly white teeth.

Emma Frost was insanely smart and breathtakingly beautiful, and from a filthy rich family, and her brother was Erik’s boss. What chance did Charles, dirt-poor until his mother kicked the bucket, the family nanny, a grad student in a field Emma was already known in, have?

 _C’mon, Xavier, get over yourself,_ he thought sternly. _This is no time for a pity party. You didn’t even know if Erik was attracted to men. Just because you’ve discovered your crush is hopelessly one-sided doesn’t give you a license to get maudlin._

Someone tapped lightly at the door. “Charles, are you in there?”

Charles nearly fell off the bed at the voice he heard. “Hang on, Raven,” he said, glancing around for somewhere to hide the book. He slid it underneath his pillow, then grabbed his laptop and flipped it open. Luckily, a PDF of a research paper was already open, so he could pretend he was studying. “Come in.”

The door opened and Raven walked in, looking uncharacteristically fidgety. Since Charles’ arrival in their lives, Raven had been nothing but supremely confident, self-assured in her position as the eldest, Erik’s favorite and her siblings’ closest confidante. It only made sense that she felt threatened by Charles’ presence, and so Charles had never taken her hostility against her.

“What can I do for you, Raven?” he asked, smiling up at her. Too late he realized that the article he was reading had been written by Dr. Frost, but he hoped Raven wouldn’t look down and see.

“About Emma…” Raven began, her gaze dropping down to her feet. “I’m sorry,” she said, in such a rush that Charles wasn’t sure if he’d heard her correctly.

“ _What?_ ” Charles goggled at her. “Raven, darling, what on _earth_ are you apologizing for?”

“For bringing her up,” said Raven, still refusing to meet Charles’ gaze. “I thought - I saw how it affected you. I was being nasty. I’m sorry.” She waved a hand around the room to indicate Charles’ belongings. “Tossing your stuff in the pool and dyeing your hair red was one thing. Hurting your feelings is another.”

“Oh, Raven.” Charles felt his heart swell with love for this girl, the apple of her father’s eye. He suddenly felt angry with Erik, for all that he was attracted to the man. His eldest daughter was growing into a woman before his very eyes, and he was so distant at a time when she needed her father the most. “You didn’t do anything wrong. There’s really nothing to apologize for, I promise.” It certainly wasn’t her fault that her father was _exactly_ Charles’ type, after all, and that he apparently already had a girlfriend.

“Still,” said Raven, “I’m sorry.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, Raven, I accept your apology.” Charles smiled at her. “No harm done.”

Raven was silent for a while, before she said, her usual sarcastic tone in place once more, “Anyway, I’d much rather have you around than _Emma_.”

“What’s wrong with Dr. Frost?” asked Charles, driven to curiosity.

Raven yanked over the chair at Charles’ desk and made herself comfortable in it. “There’s nothing wrong with her, exactly,” she said consideringly. “But…” She looked around, as though making sure none of her siblings were within hearing range (although Charles could feel them all safely in their bedrooms, and Jean’s shields weren’t yet strong enough that she could completely hide from Charles for an extended period of time), then continued, “I met Emma once, when I was younger.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Dad picked me up from school and brought me to his office for a while,” said Raven. “I was just sitting there, waiting for him to finish up with work, when this woman came in. She was blonde and dressed all in white - here, let me show you,” and then suddenly there was a perfect replica of Emma Frost sitting in Charles’ bedroom, albeit several years younger, dressed in a white pantsuit and white stiletto heels.

“She certainly lives up to her surname,” said Charles dryly.

Raven let out a snort of laughter and transformed back, although she kept on the white slacks and silk blouse. They contrasted perfectly with her sapphire skin. “In more ways than one,” she said. “She went up to Dad and they greeted each other like old friends, but it felt more like she was playing a part, like being around other people was something she had to suffer in order to get what she wanted.”

That was far too intuitive an assessment for the child Raven had been. Charles wondered if her mutation naturally made her more observant, since her ability to mimic others was dependent on knowing their movements, motivations, and habits. “Did you hear what they talked about?”

Raven shook her head. “No,” she said. “Emma told Dad they had business to discuss, then Dad asked me to step outside for a few minutes. Then Emma went back outside and looked at me, and I thought…” She trailed off, frowning.

“You thought…?”

“She looked at me,” Raven continued, “and I thought for a moment I heard her voice in my head.”

Charles tried to remember if the Frost sisters had ever made public the nature of their mutations. Was Dr. Frost a telepath? “What did she say?”

“It sounded like, ‘You don’t know how lucky you are.’”

“Did you ever tell your father?”

“No,” said Raven. “I never told any of the others, either,” she added, her face taking on a look of surprise when she realized she’d just confided in Charles. “I didn’t feel scared or threatened, I just...felt like there was more to her and Dad than simply being friends. And I didn’t like it.”

“Would...would you like me to talk to Erik about it?” Charles ventured. This was dangerous territory he was venturing into. He and Erik were becoming friends, but that didn’t mean Erik would thank him to pry into his personal life. Still, Charles’ responsibility was to the children. If they were concerned about their father’s paramour, it was well within Charles’ job description to at least bring it up.

Raven shook her head rapidly. The white pantsuit melted away, replaced by the sweatpants and tank top she’d been wearing when she came into Charles’ room. “No, that’s okay,” she said. “I’m gonna go now.” She got to her feet and made her way to the door, glancing over her shoulder at Charles. “Thank you for listening.”

Charles beamed. The evening wasn’t a total loss, he thought, if it had brought him this interlude with Raven. In fact, he was feeling quite thankful for Emma Frost at the moment. She had Erik, but Charles had Erik’s children, and really, they were more than enough. “I’ll always be here to listen, Raven. No matter what it is you want to talk about. I hope you remember that,” he said sincerely. “Good night.”

Raven smiled slightly. “Good night, Charles,” she said, and left.

 

* * *

 

**_8\. frost that stays on Erik’s nose and eyelashes_ **

Erik hated air travel. Trains and buses were no big deal, car rides even less so. There were conductors to take his ticket and people in tollbooths to take his money and that was it. Air travel meant TSA checks and metal detectors, security officers giving him _looks_ when they saw the red M in the lower left hand corner of his passport, those looks turning from concern to outright fear when they noticed the Greek symbol for Alpha next to the M, denoting alpha-level abilities.

Worst of all, air travel necessitated the suppressants, the power dampeners that Erik had raged over, that Charles had forced himself to take as a child in order to placate his mother. He obediently accepted the pills presented to him by the TSA agent and swallowed them, opening his mouth to show that he wasn’t hiding them behind his teeth or under his tongue.

The effect was almost instantaneous. Suddenly, Erik could no longer feel the metal surrounding him. Where there had once been a myriad of watches, zippers, jewelry, pens, and other assorted odds and ends, Erik now felt nothing. It was rather like being abruptly robbed of one’s sense of smell, he reflected. He could still see and hear and touch things, could still function, but there was something vital missing.

By the time he landed in Vienna, the suppressants had finally worn off. He went quickly through the airport until he reached the lobby, feeling the familiar gold of Emma’s wristwatch and earrings long before he saw her.

She cut a striking figure, standing in the midst of the crowd, dressed in head to toe white like an Ice Queen. Her blonde hair was perfectly combed and fell down her shoulders, framing a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and a delicate chin. She seemed to accept the admiring glances and impressed stares thrown her way by passersby like it was her due.

“Erik, darling,” she said, swooping in to kiss his cheek. In her high-heeled pumps - white, of course - she was nearly as tall as he. “So glad to see you.”

“Hello, Emma.”

“Come on, I have a car waiting. Is that all you brought?” she asked, looking down her nose at his rolling suitcase.

Erik rolled his eyes. “Not everyone feels the need to travel with their entire wardrobe in tow.”

“Yes, well.” Emma sniffed. “More’s the pity.”

She led him out of the airport to a sleek Mercedes-Benz, which was, uncharacteristically, black. Erik popped the trunk by hand and lifted his luggage inside. An Alpha-level mutant traveling abroad was no big deal, but an Alpha-level mutant seen manipulating metal was something else. He didn’t want to alert Shaw’s associates, if there were any remaining, to his presence in Europe.

They made idle chitchat on the drive to Emma’s hotel. “How are the children?” she asked.

“Same as ever,” said Erik, shrugging. “Constantly calling attention to us by persisting in driving away their nannies. Moira’s at her wit’s end.”

“Oh, Erik, really,” Emma tutted. “They’re children, they can’t help a bit of mischief here and there. I  _did_ tell you,” she added archly, “that the sensible thing would have been to let the system handle them - ”

“And I told you, Emma,” said Erik coldly, “that that was not an option.” For all that she’d helped Erik immensely, Emma had really never understood what had driven Erik to keep all six children. Erik had never bothered trying to explain how he’d felt, that the months they’d spent in the dark and damp, totally at Shaw’s mercy, had bonded them in a way the children never would with anyone else.

“You’re much too soft-hearted for your own good.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. “Says the woman who quit her job teaching in one of Europe’s most established private schools to track down _one_ missing little girl,” he said silkily.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Well, Adrienne always did bring out the worst in me,” she replied. “So, who’ve you left the children with?”

It was a blatant attempt to change the subject, but Erik knew talk of her eldest sister always distressed Emma, so he allowed it. “They have a new nanny now,” he replied. “His name’s Charles Xavier. He’s a grad student at Columbia.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Xavier?” she repeated. “You can’t possibly mean the Westchester Xaviers, do you?”

Erik shrugged. “Moira said he used to live upstate before he moved to the city.”

“What on earth is a member of _that_ family doing nannying for you?” Emma exclaimed.

“Charles told me his mother cut him off,” said Erik grimly. He still remembered the look on Charles’ face when he’d spoken of Sharon Xavier and the lifetime of neglect and indifference he’d received at her hands. It was enough to make him want to return to New York and give that woman a piece of his mind. Erik wondered why the thought of Charles being mistreated elicited such a reaction, but quickly backpedaled away from that question, unwilling to deal with the answer.

“Yes, I did hear about a scandal of the sort,” Emma murmured. “You’ll get that sort of nonsense with old families all the time. They want their children to fit into this mold of perfection with no regard whatsoever for their wishes.”

Erik wanted to ask if Emma was still speaking about Charles, but decided not to offend her sensibilities by initiating an emotionally-laden conversation. “He has your books,” he said instead. “He’s getting his master’s degree in mutant education.”

Emma laughed. “How darling,” she exclaimed. “If I’m ever in your neck of the woods, sugar, you must introduce me to him. Perhaps I’ll autograph something for him.”

When they arrived at the hotel, a bevy of valets and bellhops rushed over to do Emma’s bidding. She handed her keys over to one, directed another to get Erik’s bags, and then called for tea and snacks to be brought up to her suite.

“Seems you’ve got everyone wrapped around your little finger,” said Erik. The boy carrying his bags deposited them carefully in a corner of the suite’s living room, accepted a few bills from Emma with effusive thanks, and left. “Is this the Frost money at work, or…?” He waggled his fingers in the vicinity of his temple.

“A little bit of both,” Emma replied. She shrugged off her coat and gracefully sank down onto one of the spindly chairs at the little tea table next to the window. “Sit, sit,” she said, waving a hand imperiously at the seat opposite her. Erik hurried to obey.

A waiter brought them a wide silver tray on which rested a pot of tea, two cups, a sugar bowl, and two little jugs of milk, while his fellow carried in a tray of little pastries and even tinier sandwiches. Emma tipped them generously, and they practically tripped over themselves assuring her that they could call on them for anything she might need.

“Do they know who you are?” Erik asked as they showed themselves out. “Or are they...seeing someone else?”

“I may have put it into their heads that I’m an eccentric, disgustingly wealthy old woman named Mrs. Tabitha Landry traveling the world before she passes away.” Emma placed a strainer over her cup and poured the tea in. “Incidentally, Mrs. Landry happens to have a handsome Swiss masseuse visiting her today. So the staff have been instructed not to bother her for, oh, a few hours or so.” She winked at Erik.

“Your discretion is, as always, admirable,” said Erik blandly. He had to admit, it was a good cover. Emma was well-known in both academic and socialite circles, much too popular to truly be incognito. Projecting illusions onto those around her was child’s play for her telepathic abilities.

Emma closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and said, “Well now, I’ve just convinced every bellboy, maid, and waiter that there’s really no pressing need to visit the floor until much later tonight. Would you be a dear and - ”

“No listening devices anywhere,” said Erik. The metal in the room was as distinct to him as the backs of his hands, from Emma’s jewelry to the tiny spoons by their teacups. There was nothing small and unseen, inauspiciously tucked away in tiny corners of the room. “So, this chatter you’ve been hearing.”

“Most of Shaw’s major players are gone,” said Emma, selecting a cucumber sandwich from the tray of finger food. “His scientists, officers, financial backers - they’re all dead and...well, not buried, certainly.” She smiled daintily, a delicate curving of her lips that Erik felt was more threatening than any frown or glare. “The mercenaries are scattered to the wind, no memory of their previous employment whatsoever.”

“You should’ve just killed them,” Erik muttered angrily.

“Sugar, you know as well as I do that too much blood spilled will draw the wrong kind of attention. How many lumps would you like?”

Erik ignored her and flicked a finger at his cup. The spoon floated up, took out a single lump from the sugar bowl, and dumped it in the tea. “I don’t think you called me to Vienna to give yourself a pat on the back.”

“Mm, you thought right.” Emma paused to take a sip of her tea. Erik thought of Charles, how he took his tea with far too much sugar, steeping his tea leaves in overly large mugs instead of the refined porcelain they were using now. “Have you ever heard of Trask International?”

“No, should I have?”

“They’re R&D, like Frost Industries, but the similarities end there,” Emma continued. “The company was created around five years ago. Armament manufacturers, primarily. Christian’s been trying to break into the industry, which is how I first heard of them. On the surface, they seem on the up-and-up. Legitimate business dealings, mostly with Eastern European governments.”

“But…”

Emma reached into her pocket and withdrew her phone, pulled up a photo on it, and laid it out on the table. The photo was of a middle-aged man with broad shoulders and a salt-and-pepper beard circling his mouth, wearing an Army Service uniform. He had dark hair shot through with gray, cold, steely eyes, and a countenance that practically radiated viciousness.

“This is William Stryker,” said Emma. “Former military, and anti-mutant to the core. There was an incident some years back. His son - a mutant - died under mysterious circumstances. Mutant rights groups accused Stryker of forcing his son to undergo experimental treatment that was supposed to suppress his powers. No formal charges were ever made, but the rumors destroyed Stryker’s military career. Family money kept him afloat for a while, but then he hooked up with Bolivar Trask, and poured all his assets into Trask International.”

She showed Erik another photo, this one a publicity snap of a dwarf in a tweed suit with brown hair and bifocals. William Stryker, in a coat and tie instead of his dress blues, could be seen in the background.

“Who’s Bolivar Trask?”

“If he’s anti-mutant, he’s being very quiet about it,” said Emma, shaking his head. “Unlike Stryker, Trask has no known associations with any of the usual anti-mutant groups. Whenever he’s asked about making weapons designed to target mutants specifically, he always declines to answer. Which is not a ‘yes, I would kill all mutants in a heartbeat’, but it’s not a ‘no’ either.”

“What made you think Trask International would be a problem?”

“This.” Emma swiped the screen and showed another photo, this one of a map of Austria. A section of the country, far away from any towns or cities, was encircled in red. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what this is.”

Erik took in a sharp breath. “The _Böhmerwald_ ,” he snarled. The Bohemian Forest. The mountain range that, for a long year, had sheltered Shaw and the madness he’d wrought. “They found it?” he demanded. “They found the old facility?”

“I think so,” said Emma. “I haven’t seen for myself, so I can’t be sure. But I’ve been hearing of Trask personnel being sent out there, and there’s no other reason I can think of for doing so other than to look for what Shaw left behind. And with someone as anti-mutant as William Stryker on the Trask payroll, I thought it’d be foolish to dismiss this.”

Erik looked at the map. The _Böhmerwald_. A man who was fiercely anti-mutant, with a military background, on the payroll of a weapons manufacturer. Emma was right. The risk was too great to ignore. “What do we do?”

“Trask and Stryker are headed to San Francisco for a conference on robotics and their application in the military,” said Emma. “Normally, I’d be on a plane to California by now to take them out. But the fact that they’re headed to the United States worries me.”

“You think they’ve found us.”

“Yes.”

Erik clenched his fists. “So what’s the plan?”

“I think,” said Emma slowly, “it’s time I returned to New York.”

 

*

 

Raven was one of the more popular girls at school, despite the M printed clearly under her name on her student ID. Being on the cheerleading squad helped. Being able to easily hide her mutation helped even more.

The point was, she was usually followed around by a veritable platoon of teenage boys eager to do her bidding and hopefully win her affection, and was never in want of admiring glances as she sauntered down the school’s hallways. Which was why it had come as such a shock to the student body when she began dating Azazel.

Azazel Fleming was one of the scholarship kids, enrolled in the prestigious private academy by virtue of excellent grades and a place on the school’s basketball team. His mother had migrated from Russia to be a writer, but had, instead, married young, gotten pregnant, and found herself summarily divorced when the baby turned out to be…different. Azazel’s thrift store clothes and thick accent would already have made him the butt of every joke, but all that was exacerbated by the fact that he was a mutant - and not a mutant like the Lehnsherrs or the two Summers boys, who looked no different from anyone else. He had red skin, a deep scarlet that made him look like a demon, and a _tail_.

He had no friends, and it would have stayed that way throughout high school were it not for Hank and Raven. They’d rescued him from a pack of bullies who’d cornered Azazel behind the school, or at least they thought they had. The two eldest Lehnsherrs laughed uproariously upon realizing that Azazel was a teleporter and could have easily escaped, and so had never been in any danger at all.

From that moment on, the three were fast friends, mockingly called the Mutant Golden Trio behind their backs (because people were too scared to do so to their faces). The rest of the Lehnsherrs liked Azazel, liked his brusque, brash manner and his dry sense of humor (which they privately agreed amongst themselves reminded them of their dad). And so that was the end of it, until one day when Raven Lehnsherr and Azazel Fleming walked into school holding hands.

The rumor mill had practically _exploded_.

Raven had kept the relationship a secret from Erik, sure that he’d hit the roof. It was why she hadn’t pried into Hank’s own affairs, even when it was so painfully obvious that he was seeing someone. (She suspected Alex Summers - all that antagonism was just pent-up unresolved sexual tension, she was sure.) He had his secrets, she had hers, and what Erik didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Raven sat on one of the picnic tables outside the school, waiting for Azazel’s last class to dismiss them. There were others milling around, similarly waiting for friends or significant others, occasionally throwing Raven a curious stare. She didn’t need to be a telepath to know what they were thinking. _What does she see in him? She could have any boy in the school and she chooses a mutant who doesn’t even have the good grace to at least_ look _normal._

They could all kiss her ass. (Figuratively, of course, because ew.) She loved how Azazel didn’t even try to hide how different he was. He didn’t wear caps or hoodies or anything to mask the color of his skin, and there were strategically cut slits in his pants through which his tail was threaded. It was in such stark contrast to how Raven hid, everyday. She admired his courage - something she knew she sorely lacked. He walked with his shoulders back and his chin tilted up, while she hobbled along on the crutches of popularity and prettiness that her shapeshifter abilities afforded her.

“Hello, _lisichka_.”

Raven gasped and looked up. Azazel was standing right in front of her. Judging by the lingering smell of smoke, he’d teleported from his classroom to her. “Hi, Az,” she said, leaning forward to give him a swift kiss.

“Go out with me tonight?” he asked, grinning mischievously. “I hear your dad isn’t in town.”

Raven grimaced. “No, but Charles is. The nanny,” she added, at Azazel’s questioning look. “Remember? I told you about him. The telepath.”

“Oh, yes. The Lehnsherr tamer.” Azazel laughed. “Come on,  _lisichka_. What can the nanny do? Let’s go to that pasta place you like. It’ll be my treat.”

“ _Hell_ no,” said Raven, folding her arms across her chest. “I can pay for my own food, thank you very much.” She took Azazel’s hand. “Well? Let’s get going.”

They disappeared in a puff of smoke, and for a few seconds all Raven could see was hazy grayish-red clouds. Then the blur of color all around her solidified into the movie theater. Sight was always the first to come back after teleportation, then sound. Slowly her ears adjusted until she could once more hear the cacophony all around her. No matter how many times they’d done it, she’d never get used to teleporting. Even running with Peter was more comfortable.

They watched some ridiculous dick flick with tons of explosions and hot women with large breasts throwing themselves at the hero, sitting in the last row so they could whisper snarky observations without anyone shushing them. When the movie was over, they crossed the street to Raven’s favorite restaurant, a veritable hole in the wall with an all-mutant staff and the best Italian food Raven had ever tasted. While feasting on a shared platter of chicken pesto pasta and garlic breadsticks, Raven kept Azazel laughing by morphing into different characters from the movie and repeating their lines in a high-pitched helium voice.

“So is it the red wire, or the blue wire?” she squeaked mockingly, wearing the skin of the buff leading male. She laughed and extended an arm to flex a bicep, but stopped when Azazel took her hand.

“Can I have my Raven back, please?” he asked, smiling.

She transformed back into her usual form, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Better?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

“The _real_ Raven.”

Raven froze. She looked around, trying to spot anyone she knew. The fact that she was a mutant was a matter of - well, not public record, but there _was_ that M on her student ID, and in her files in the principal’s office. But the exact nature of her mutation was a well-kept secret. Oh, sure, some knew that she was a shapeshifter, but no one knew about the blue skin, the yellow eyes, the red hair that was the reason for Azazel’s nickname for her. _Lisichka_. Little fox.

But there was also no one in the restaurant who knew her; no classmates, none of her fellow cheerleaders on the squad. So she smiled at Azazel and morphed, creamy skin melting away to a beautiful cobalt blue.

“Perfection,” Azazel declared.

They stayed a bit longer, Raven hemming and hawing over whether or not to order dessert (“I don’t believe this, a _shapeshifter_ is worried about her weight,” Azazel grumbled), and poking more fun at the movie. Eventually, Raven felt she’d pushed her boundaries far enough (she was _not_ apprehensive about Charles’ reaction to her coming home so late, she _wasn’t_ ), and asked Azazel to take her home. They settled their bill, bid the waitress good night, and left, Raven once more wearing her usual disguise.

Raven took Azazel’s hand in preparation for his teleporting, but before they could disappear, Azazel’s hand was violently yanked out of hers. Someone shoved her aside, and she stumbled back and landed on the gritty parking lot concrete.

Azazel lay prone on the ground, surrounded by three boys who were viciously taking it in turns to kick him. He must have been unconscious or at least dazed, otherwise he would’ve easily teleported away.

“Get away from him!” Raven cried, fear and adrenaline pumping through her veins. She leapt to her feet and, with hardly a thought, took down the nearest attacker with a spinning kick. Her mind blanked until all that was left was the instinct to fight, to survive, to _kill_. She whirled on the next one to approach her, grabbing his arm with one hand, the other closing around his throat.

“Raven! Stop!”

Belatedly, she realized that the other boys were no longer advancing on her, and even the one in her grasp was no longer struggling. They were all frozen, unmoving like her siblings that day by the pool when they realized Charles Xavier was more than a match for their mischief-making.

Raven looked up and found Erik’s car parked at the curb, Hank at the wheel. Charles was leaning out the front window, two fingers pressed to his temples.

“Charles?” she whispered.

Charles clambered out of the car, his fingers still pressed to his temple. “Raven, let him go,” he said, his voice low, commanding, but also gentle and calming. She let go of the boy’s wrist and throat, slowly stepping back, staring disbelievingly at her hands.

“Hank,” Charles called out. “Check on Raven’s friend, please.” In the background, Raven could see Hank hurrying over to Azazel and helping him sit up. “Raven,” Charles murmured, approaching her like one would an injured animal, slowly, carefully. “Raven, it’s okay. They’re not going to hurt you. No one’s going to hurt you.”

A memory rushed to the forefront of her mind. Erik, back when he’d been _just_ Erik, and not Dad, holding a hand out to her and saying, _No one’s going to hurt you ever again._  

Raven felt something inside her, rather like a dam breaking. She didn’t cry - she was much too old, older than her seventeen years - but she stepped forward and collapsed into Charles’ arms, suddenly very, very tired.

“Are you all right?” Charles’ voice asked, somewhere near her ear.

“I’m okay,” said Raven dully. “Is - is Az - ”

“Your friend is fine. Hank’s got him.” Raven was clearly uninjured, but Charles kept his arm around her waist as they walked toward the car. “He’s not unconscious, but I think he’s concussed. We’re going to take him to the hospital. Do you know who we can call?”

Raven nodded. “Yeah, he lives with his mom,” she said as Charles helped her into the backseat, where Azazel was already buckled in, slumped against the window. “Here…” She rummaged in her bag and withdrew her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she found Mrs. Fleming’s name, then handing the phone to Charles.

The ride to the hospital was quiet, interspersed only with Charles’ short, clipped phrases in Russian as he spoke to Azazel’s mother (that was something new, Raven didn’t know Charles could speak Russian). Azazel was awake, but his gaze was unfocused and hazy. Raven could not bring herself to lean over and ask if he was okay. She was afraid of the answer.

Most of all, she was afraid of the sheer fury that had built up inside her. Erik had taught all of them how to defend themselves, had turned them into sleeping weapons ready to be unleashed should the need ever present itself. But back there, when she’d seen Azazel on the ground and felt fear for her life, she realized she wasn’t just ready and willing to defend. She had it in her to attack as well. She’d felt the rage clawing it’s way up her throat and knew that, if Charles hadn’t stopped her, she could have killed that boy, choked the life out of him like it was nothing.

It was, Raven thought, a rather sobering experience, realizing that one was capable of murder.

“Raven?”

She was so lost in her thoughts she didn’t realize that they’d already pulled up to the emergency room. Hank and Azazel were gone. Charles was still in the front seat, looking at her with far too much understanding in his eyes.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you checked out, hm? I’d like to make sure you’re really okay.”

Raven allowed herself to be ushered into the emergency room. She was led to a curtained-off section, where Azazel was already being seen to by a doctor, Hank hovering helpfully in the background. After a quick examination, a doctor determined that Raven had no injuries, and that Azazel had a mild concussion.

“Azazel! _Bozhe moi_ , you gave me such a fright!” Vera Fleming swooped into the emergency room and was at Azazel’s side as fast as though she’d teleported. She grabbed Azazel’s face in her hands and gave him a sound kiss on both cheeks, then held him at arm’s length to inspect him herself, distrustful of the doctor’s assurances that her son was fine. “When I find the hoodlums who did this to you,” she muttered angrily, before continuing to swear dire threats in Russian.

Raven hid a smile. She’d always liked Mrs. Fleming, an imposing Russian beauty who’d kept her married surname out of sheer spite. Azazel liked telling the story, proud as he was of his fierce, immovable mother. Mr. Fleming was a literary agent who had taken Vera under his wing, promising to launch her career, but he married her instead, convincing her that she could take up writing again once their children were grown. However, when Azazel was born, he’d wanted to give the boy away, disgusted by the red skin, the tail. Vera had refused, packed her things, and left. It had meant the end of her writing dreams, but, as she often told Azazel, that was a sacrifice she would make over and over again, as long as she got to keep her son.

Until Raven had met Azazel, she hadn’t known that humans were capable of such love and devotion for mutants.

“Raven! Oh, Raven!” Vera cried out, hurrying to Raven’s side and kissing her as well. “Your father told me _everything_ , and - oh, I’m so sorry.” She put a hand to her mouth. “Do forgive me, sweetheart, I meant to say, your _stepfather_ \- ”

At the word ‘stepfather’, Charles blushed and interrupted, “Yes, hi, Mrs. Fleming, I’m Charles Xavier. We spoke on the phone. I think the doctor has some instructions for us…” He led Vera over to the doctor and continued speaking in Russian.

Raven turned to Hank. “How’d you guys find us?” she asked.

He tapped his forehead. “When you didn’t come home with us, on the bus,” he said, “Charles panicked. His reach is even further than Jean’s, you know? It’s amazing, really,” he added admiringly. “So anyway, Angel cracked and said you might be with Az, and then he said he could feel both your minds and neither of you were in any trouble, so he said he’d just scold you when you got back home. He said he was just about to leave you alone when he felt - ”

“ - those guys,” Raven finished, nodding. “The ones who hurt Az.” She clenched her fist. “Did he hear what they were thinking?”

“Not at first, but he _did_ feel like they were up to no good. He says he got flickers of them thinking about the two of you sitting in the window, and they were mad about that and wanted to teach you guys a lesson.” Hank frowned. “Raven, you know Dad said not to show our true forms in public.”

Raven took a deep breath, wanting to explain to Hank how she felt, how she didn’t want to hide anymore. She wanted to be brave like Azazel, unafraid of the way people looked at him. Mutant and proud.

Instead, she sighed and shook her head. “Yeah,” she said, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“At least you’re okay,” said Hank, petting her on the shoulder.

“Did you get a look at them?”

Hank looked pissed as anything, and suddenly Raven remembered why, as children they’d teasingly called him Beast. “Charles kept them frozen until the police got there.”

Raven blinked. “Wow. His reach is  _really_ far.” The hospital was some distance from the restaurant. “No wonder he sensed Jean so easily when we tried to dump his stuff in the pool.”

Hank smirked. “Yeah, well.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction Charles and Mrs. Fleming had gone. “I’m gonna go see if Charles and Mrs. Fleming are done talking. The doctor said Az could go home tonight.”

“Okay.”

Raven watched Hank run off and, despite herself, began to wonder if she’d badly misjudged Charles. He’d been willing to listen, when she wanted to talk about her misgivings regarding Emma, and he hadn’t dismissed her gut feelings. And now he’d come to her and Azazel’s rescue.

“ _Lisichka?_ ”

Raven glanced up to find Azazel, lying flat on the stretcher, looking at her. “Az,” she said breathlessly. She slid down her own stretcher and hurried to his side, taking her hand in her own. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Me too.” Azazel smiled at her. “ _Lisichka_ , my Raven. You were so brave.”

 _Brave._ _Mutant and proud._

Suddenly, the hand in Azazel’s was blue.

His smile widened. “Perfection,” he repeated.

 

* * *

 

**_9\. silver white winters that melt in the spring_ **

Erik and Emma spent the rest of the weekend in Vienna, just to keep up the appearances. Erik had told his children that he was attending a conference, while he’d informed the brass back at Frost Industries that he needed a holiday. His immaculate track record, work ethic, and close relationship with Emma had ensured that he was firmly in Christian Frost’s good books, and so the CEO of Frost Industries was only too happy to let him go for a weekend. When Emma had informed Christian that she was coming home from her latest sabbatical, fresh with new ideas for a book, and that she had Erik along with her, Christian had been over the moon and immediately volunteered the services of his chauffeur to pick them up from the airport.

“Emma! Darling, I’m _so_ glad you’re home!” Christian, a tall, good-looking man in his late thirties, who wore three-piece suites everywhere he went, tugged his sister into a warm embrace and kissed her on the cheek. “You’ve been away for far too long. And my goodness, Erik! You didn’t tell me you were going on holiday to see _Emma_.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Am I going to be hearing wedding bells in the near future?”

Erik suppressed a sigh. Christian Frost certainly didn’t act like the CEO of a multimillion dollar corporation, but he was practically wrapped around Emma’s little finger and he didn’t ask too many questions. It paid to be friends with such a man, even if he was inordinately fond of gossip.

Emma was often quick to disabuse Christian’s notions that she and Erik were a couple, which is why it surprised him, when instead of doing so, she merely gave him an enigmatic smile. “Christian, really, mind your own damn business,” she said cheerfully. “It’s wonderful to see you. How’s Cordelia?”

Cordelia, the youngest of the Frost siblings, was a model. She was a telepath, like Emma, but she could only read a person’s thoughts if she was physically in contact with them. “Doing well, she has a show in Milan next week,” said Christian, waving a hand at his driver. “Here, you, get Emma and Erik’s things, please. I’m flying out to see her,” he added. “Care to join me? I’d invite you,” he said, winking at Erik, “but I know you don’t like being away from that delightful brood of yours.”

The driver led the way to Christian’s car, an unobtrusive black SUV with heavily tinted windows. The man loaded Erik’s single suitcase and Emma’s considerably larger collection of luggage into the back, before he opened the doors and allowed Emma, Christian, and then finally Erik to slide in. “Oh, good Lord!” Christian declared, laughing uproariously. “Emma, I just realized, if you and Erik _do_ get married, you’ll be the mother of  _seven children_.”

“Well, honey, that’s why boarding schools were invented,” said Emma glibly.

Erik opened his mouth to snap that _no_ , he wouldn’t be marrying Emma, and even if he did, he certainly wouldn’t be packing the children off to any boarding school, when he suddenly felt a sharp jab in his mind. _Play along,_ Emma’s voice.

Every telepath’s touch was different. Emma, true to her name, felt like icicles, sharp and cold, pricking at his consciousness like thorns. So different from Charles, whose mind felt like soft light and flickering fire.

_Oh, sugar, please, don’t be nauseating. That sweet little telepath of yours is perfectly capable of burning the life right out of a man with a single thought._

That was another thing about Charles, thought Erik, purposefully directing his thoughts so Emma would hear him. Charles knew how to respect people’s boundaries.

_Don’t get all soft on me now, Lehnsherr, it’s not attractive._

_Remind me again why we’re letting your brother think that there’s something between us._

_Because Christian has a big fat mouth._ Emma paused in her spirited conversation with Christian about some reality TV star who’d gotten himself thrown out of an exclusive nightclub at Christian happened to be at. She pretended to be digging through her purse for something while she mentally spoke to Erik. _Word will get out soon enough that I’m back in the States. If the news reaches Stryker and Trask, I’d rather that they think I’m home for some inane reason, like getting married._ A thread of disgust at the word ‘married’ wove its way from Emma’s mind to Erik’s. He resisted the urge to laugh. Pure Emma, right there.

 _Why would Stryker and Trask be worried about you following them?_ Erik shot a frown at Emma over Christian’s oblivious head. _As far as the whole world’s concerned, you’re an academic from old money who likes traipsing around the world when she’s writing her books._

Emma looked as though she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “How _tacky_ ,” she said out loud to Christian, in response to another of his stories. _I’ve made good and sure no one can tie my name to the disappearances of Shaw’s flunkies, but better to be safe than sorry, sugar_.

As usual, Emma had a point. Gritting his teeth, Erik reached out and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Christian looked delighted.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I begin, I'd like to address a comment made on the previous chapter: _but I was thinking what if Charle's got in some accident and lost his ability to walk in this universe like he did in the regular universe._
> 
> I'd love nothing more than to write canon disabled Charles, but unfortunately, I have not done enough research into the ins and outs of life for people using wheelchairs. In the future, I will definitely be writing fanfic featuring Charles and his wheelchair, but that will have to wait until I've read up on the subject. I don't feel comfortable writing about disabled characters when I am totally ignorant of the intricacies of that disability, and I would hate to offend anybody or misrepresent disabled people. So **yes, I will be trying my hand at writing disabled Charles, but not in this story since I have yet to do the appropriate reading**. But thank you for bringing up the subject, anon!
> 
>  **Change in number of chapters:** This monster of a story has totally run away with itself. There will be  two more chapters before it comes to a conclusion. *sobs*
> 
>  **TRIGGER WARNING:** Allusions made to attempted rape. Please proceed cautiously.
> 
>  **Further warning:** Lots of exposition? Idk lol but semi-reveal of back story ahoy! (Back story will be _completely_ revealed in the next chapter.)
> 
>  **"MCUSA":** Mutant Code of the United States of America. Sorry, I don't know how laws are named in the U.S. :P
> 
>  **EASTER EGG!** Virtual cookies to anyone who can guess the identity of Emma's spy! She's not important to the story though, I just thought it'd make a cute Easter egg. ;)

**_10\. Raven, a mutant, a female mutant_ **

_While Erik and Emma are off gallivanting in Vienna…_

There was an unspoken agreement amongst the children that no one would bring up the attack on Raven and Azazel that had happened the night before. That was how they dealt with things in this family anyway. They buried things and never brought them up again.

Of course, Charles was already the exception to the many, many rules that governed the Lehnsherr children’s lives.

The children all came down to the dining room for breakfast, as per usual, and said nothing when they saw that Raven’s chair was empty. Charles served them buttered toast, eggs, and sausages, poured milk and coffee and orange juice, and kept up a constant stream of cheerful babble.

It wasn’t until their bus pulled up at the curb that Angel finally voiced the question on everyone’s mind. “Where’s Raven?” she asked Charles as she shouldered her backpack, hovering in the door while the rest of her siblings scurried down the driveway.

“I’ve told her to take the day off,” said Charles. “We’re going to sit together, watch old movies, eat popcorn, and paint each other’s nails.”

Angel’s eyebrows were threatening to climb up into her hair. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t decide what to say next. Instead, she shook her head, muttered, “It’s your funeral,” and hurried out the door to join the rest of her siblings.

 

*

 

Charles spent the rest of the morning dithering in the kitchen, wondering what to say to Raven. His blasé manner when answering Angel’s earlier question belied the fact that he absolutely had no idea what to do. When he’d come into her room to tell her she could spend the day at home, she’d merely lifted her head from her pillow, acknowledged him with a grunt, and gone right back to sleep, leaving Charles no clue as to the state of her mood, and no one to talk to about it. He’d immediately vetoed the idea of informing Erik right away, deciding to wait until he got back to home to broach this particular topic.  

It was only after he’d finished cleaning the kitchen that he realized he _did_ have someone he could ask for help. He went out to the backyard to make sure Raven wouldn’t hear him, then pulled out his phone and dialled Moira. _Pick up, pick up, pick up,_ he chanted mentally, thinking of the image he’d seen in Erik’s mind, of a twelve-year-old Raven sizing Moira up and deciding that yes, maybe this human was all right.

Moira picked up on the fifth ring. “Charles!” she exclaimed. “Good morning. Don’t you have class?”

“Skiving off today, Moira,” he said, plopping onto one of the pool chairs. “I’m spending the day with Raven, poor girl.”

“Is she sick?” Moira asked worriedly.

“Not exactly,” said Charles. He sighed deeply, thinking of the terror in Raven’s eyes. “Last night, she and her boyfriend were attacked.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“Her boyfriend’s a mutant, too. A teleporter, with red skin. He and Raven were sitting in the window of a restaurant, and she’d morphed into her true form. Four boys from their school were passing by and - ” Charles felt his lips curl in an involuntary sneer. “They didn’t take too kindly to the thought of two mutants brazenly exposing themselves to the world,” he spat, feeling sick as he said it. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the feel of those bullies’ minds, the barest hints of anger and disgust that he’d felt, blooming into a more directed sense of purpose when he zeroed in on it.

“Oh, _Charles_ ,” said Moira, sounding heartsick. “Is Raven okay? And her boyfriend? I didn’t even know she had a - no, never mind, that’s not important. Did you call the police?”

“Her boyfriend had to go to the hospital to get checked out, but he didn’t have to spend the night,” said Charles. “Raven’s all right. I called the police on those thugs last night, held them in place until the cops got there.”

“You could have gotten in trouble for that!”

Charles shook his head, then remembered that he was on the phone. “The arresting officers were very understanding,” he said. “And anyway, use of mutant abilities to protect oneself is included in the self-defense clause of the MCUSA.”

Moira chuckled. “I thought you wanted to be a teacher, Charles, not a lawyer,” she said. “But something tells me you didn’t call just to tell me about last night.”

“You’re much too perceptive for your own good, you know that?” said Charles. “But you’re right. I wanted to ask you for help with Raven.”

“I thought you said Raven was okay!” Moira screeched.

“She is, she is,” Charles reassured her. “She’s perfectly fine, physically. But she’s - I don’t know how to describe it, Moira. She seems so sad and scared.” He lowered his voice and looked around, ensuring that Raven wasn’t in earshot. “She fought back last night. When I found them, she had one of the boys in a chokehold. I really think she might have killed those boys if I hadn’t stopped her.”

There was a short, shocked silence before Moira spoke again. “Poor Raven,” she murmured. “Oh, Charles, there’s really nothing I can tell you to say to her. What can you say to someone who’s just been through something like that?”

 _Exactly my question,_ Charles thought glumly.

“But,” Moira continued, “I find that the best way to deal with things like that is simply to listen.” Charles couldn’t see her over the phone, but he had the feeling she was smiling. “Kids are like that, you know. When you listen, more often than not, they’ll tell you exactly what they need.”

 

*

 

Raven lay curled up in bed, unable to name the raw, hollow feeling deep inside her. All she knew was that she was cold and terrified, and Erik wasn’t there to protect her. There was no outstretched hand in the darkness, no comforting voice telling her everything would be okay. And even if there was, it would be a lie. She wasn’t safe. Not even here, so far away from Shaw and everything he’d done to her and her family, Raven knew she wasn’t safe.

A light tap at the door shook her from her dark thoughts. “Raven?” Charles called out. “Are you in there? Do you think we could talk?”

Raven contemplated not answering, or maybe even yelling at Charles to leave her alone. But then she remembered how he’d acted last night, rushing to her defense at the merest hint of danger, how he hadn’t berated her for being out with a boy or for morphing into her true form in public. Judging by how her phone wasn’t blowing up with frantic calls and text messages from her father, he probably hadn’t even told Erik yet.

“Come in,” she relented.

The door swung open, admitting Charles. He was carrying a tray, on which was a large mug of tea and a bowl of macaroni and cheese. He smiled at her. “I thought I’d bring you lunch, since you didn’t come down for breakfast,” he said.

Raven sat up and frowned at the bowl. “That better not be that instant crap Dad likes making when we ask for mac and cheese,” she said. “Only Peter likes that stuff.”

Charles laughed. “No, Raven, I made this from scratch,” he said, setting the tray on the bed next to Raven’s legs.

Raven’s eyes widened. “For real?”

“For real,” Charles agreed, perching on the edge of her bed. “Come on, eat a little, please? I’m sure you’re hungry.”

She opened her mouth to refuse the food, but then realized yes, she was rather famished. So she took up the spoon and began eating, resolutely staring at the food so she wouldn’t have to look up at Charles. However, he waited patiently until she was done eating, then took away the bowl and placed it on her bedside table. He handed her the mug of tea that had come with her lunch and watched her as she drained it, then put that away as well.

It seemed there would be no escaping this conversation.

“Out with it,” she said accusingly, folding her arms over her chest. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before from Dad. I shouldn’t have been out of the house in the first place, showing myself in public is dangerous, I shouldn’t be seeing boys without his permission - have I missed anything?”

Charles shook his head. “Raven, darling,” he began, “I’m not going to scold you for being out last night.”

Raven blinked. “You’re not?”

“No.” He held out a hand to her and, pulled in by the sympathy in his bright blue eyes, Raven put her hand in his. “You did a very brave thing last night, Raven.”

“What, fighting back?” Raven sniffed. She could feel her eyes stinging with tears that she would _not. Let. Fall._ “Anybody can do that. An animal can do that.”

“No, Raven, I meant - ” He waved a hand at her, indicating the feathery blue scales. “You and your friend - Azazel, did you call him? - you’re perfect the way you are. And those - ” He paused, and Raven suppressed a giggle when she realized he’d been about to swear and was searching for a more appropriate word. “ - they deserved what they got.”

“I’m seventeen, Charles,” she said patiently, “you can say bad words around me, I promise.”

Charles laughed. “I’m sorry, I’ve gotten used to censoring myself around the younger ones. Little pitchers have big ears.”

Raven grimaced. “I’ll never forget the day Sean asked me what ‘fuck’ meant.”

“What did you say?”

“I didn’t have to say anything. Jean explained,” Raven replied. “She knew what the word was because she’d heard it in people’s heads.”

“I bet Erik had a lot to say about that,” said Charles, grinning.

Raven’s burgeoning good mood evaporated quickly at the thought of their distant father. “He didn’t, actually,” she said quietly. “He used to be so proud of us, of what we could do. Then Mom left and suddenly it was like - it was like he wasn’t our father anymore, like we were just soldiers. It was ‘we need to be safe’ this and ‘we can’t trust anyone else’ that.” She shook her head. “And we just...went along.”

Charles looked so unbearably sad. “I’m sure he’s still proud of you, darling,” he said softly, his hold on Raven’s hand tightening. “He loves you all so much.”

Raven fell silent, trying to sort through the maelstrom of feelings whirling through her mind. She’d hated Charles on principle the moment he’d set foot in their home, but she was quickly learning that she needed to talk about her emotions, and Charles, with his ugly cardigans and gentle touch, seemed to be a good listener. “It used to be all about who we are. But then it became about what we could do,” she said, slowly, wondering how best to explain herself without divulging all their family’s secrets. “You know Mom was human, right?”

“Yes.”

”Well, when Mom left, it convinced Dad that we couldn’t trust humans. So he taught us how to fight, how to defend ourselves, how to use our powers to hurt people before they could hurt us.” She looked up for Charles reaction. His face was carefully blank, and she was absurdly grateful for it. “I almost killed that boy, last night,” she whispered. “I had my fingers around his throat and I would have choked him to death if you hadn’t stopped me.”

There was a moment of silence where Raven was deathly afraid, like she’d never been since that day ten years ago when she’d finally set foot on American soil and thought she was finally safe. She was terrified that she’d see disgust or fear on Charles’ face, that he’d get up and call her father, resign, and leave, that he’d validate everything the neighbors and her classmates thought of them, the freaks who lived at Mutant Manor.

Instead, Charles pulled her into a hug.

Later on, Raven would blame the influx of emotion on Charles’ telepathy. Transference, or whatever it was that Jean often babbled about. But at the moment, all she could feel was a sudden overwhelming sensation of _safety_. She clung to Charles like he was the last port in a storm, and she, a ship adrift at sea for so long, was finally home.

The sudden wetness on her cheeks startled her more than the hug did. She hadn’t cried in years, and now here she was, tears sliding down her face. She felt foolish. She’d faced down far worse terrors and here she was, reduced to tears by one hug.

“It was a hug you needed, I think,” said Charles, leaning back and holding Raven at arm’s length. “I’m sorry, darling, you’re projecting rather loudly.” 

She shook her head. “No, it’s okay,” she said in between hiccups. “Jean does that all the time.”

Charles leaned back and folded his hands in his lap, looking at her with far too much understanding in his eyes. “Raven,” he said, “I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone. I want you to keep it a secret.”

Raven looked at him doubtfully. “Even from Dad?”

“Yes, even from your father.”

Raven weighed her options, then nodded, her curiosity overtaking her loyalty to Erik. “Okay.”

“I hurt someone, once,” Charles began, looking away from her. “I was about your age, and living in London at the time. I was studying at Oxford.”

“Yeah, Hank said you’re some kind of super-genius nerd,” said Raven, wrinkling her nose.

Charles chuckled. “Yes, I suppose I was,” he said. “I didn’t have many friends then. You can imagine, university students aren’t exactly jumping at the chance to hang out with a scrawny thirteen-year-old. But then there was this boy who befriended me, and, lonely as I was, I did everything to make sure he stayed my friend.”

“What was his name?” Raven asked softly.

“His name,” Charles replied grimly, “was Cain Marko.”

Raven filed away that name for future use. What was the use of a genius brother if you couldn’t nag him into hacking a government databank and stealing information for you? “Was he a mutant?”

“No.” Charles shook his head. “He wasn’t. I refused to admit it to myself, because I wanted a friend so desperately, but Cain only wanted me around for what I could do.”

“And...what did you do?”

“At first they were little things,” said Charles, sounding very far away. “Peeking into professors’ minds for correct answers, listening in on girls’ thoughts so he knew what drinks to buy them, things like that. Things that I rationalized were harmless, because nobody ever got hurt.”

“What changed?”

“He wanted me to put someone to sleep.” Charles’ face darkened, and in that moment, Raven knew she never wanted to see that look on him ever again. It was so unlike the Charles she’d come to know, the kind, caring, patient man who soldiered on through the pranks the children played on him with a smile on his face. “He wanted me to put a girl to sleep so he could…” He trailed off, but Raven knew what he meant.

“What did you do?” she whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“I said no, and he got angry. He told me I was useless, that I owed him because he befriended me when no one else would. I was so stupid not to have seen it earlier,” said Charles, shaking his head. “I told him if the only type of friends I could have were people like him, I’d rather not have friends at all. That was when he tried to attack me.” He looked up at Raven. “I reached into his mind and made him stop. Not like how I made you and your siblings stop, that night by the pool. Not even like those boys from last night, when I held them in place for the police.” He bit his lower lip, the only evidence of some inner turmoil. “I turned off something in his brain. He collapsed, and he didn’t wake up.”

Unable to help herself, Raven’s mouth dropped open. “You...you killed him?”

“I thought I did,” said Charles. “I ran. I was scared. His roommate found him and brought him to the hospital. Later on, I visited him and fixed it, what I did to his mind. But I went in there and removed his memory of me, of the knowledge of my powers, of all the things he’d asked me to do. So when he woke up, as far as he was concerned, there was no such person as Charles Xavier.” He smiled sardonically. “The doctors called it a miracle.”

“But that was different!” Raven protested. She could see in her mind’s eye, the teenaged boy Charles had been, alone and friendless. She imagined Cain Marko as a big, hulking brute, demanding that Charles help him take advantage of some poor girl, and Charles, horrified, backing away in terror as Cain advanced on him, defending himself the only way he knew how. “You were young, and - ”

“And you’re not?” said Charles, raising an eyebrow. “Raven, sometimes I think you forget that you’re only seventeen. I wasn’t much older than you are now when I thought I’d killed Cain Marko.”

“It’s different,” Raven repeated stubbornly. Charles had been lonely and terrified. Not the lethal killing machine Erik had trained Raven - had trained all his children - to be.

“It really, really isn’t, sweetheart,” said Charles. “I was young, and scared, and defending myself. It will haunt me forever, the thought that I was capable of hurting someone like that. But it taught me something. It taught me control. You will never forget how it felt to know that you could, if you wanted to, kill someone. But what’s important,” he said emphatically, “is that you _didn’t_.”

“I wanted to, though,” said Raven hoarsely. She could still feel that boy’s neck in her grasp, the thrill of seeing the life fading in his eyes. “I could feel it inside me, Charles. I wanted to hurt him.”

Charles held his arms open, and Raven once more willingly crawled into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes. “You will never forget what happened to you, Raven,” he said, left arm going around her shoulders, right hand stroking her hair. “And while I would have given anything for you not to be in this position, this will only make you stronger. You learned something valuable last night. Hold onto it, and you and your power can never be used for evil things.”  

 

*

 

When the other children came home from school, Raven and Charles were in the den, watching _Casablanca_. They were sharing a bowl of popcorn, and their toenails were bright pink.

 

* * *

 

**_11\. the hills are alive (with the sound of angst)_ **

Sunday evening, Erik texted Charles to let him know that he had landed at JFK, and would be home shortly. _I’m bringing two more guests with me,_ the rest of the text read. _They’ll be staying for dinner, if you don’t mind._

Oddly enough, Charles didn’t reply. It was strange, because Charles _always_ replied to Erik’s texts, no matter how inane they were. He even replied to Erik’s _good God these people like hearing themselves talk_ texts during insufferably long board meetings, even if it was just to chastise him for not paying attention. Still, it wasn’t as though it merited comment, so he pocketed his phone and let it be.

“It’s so lovely here, Erik, it really is,” said Emma, looking around at the passing landscape with obvious delight. “I don’t know how you can stand to come to ugly old Manhattan, day in and day out.”

“I had the scenery put up just for you, darling,” said Erik dryly.

Christian snickered. “Erik certainly knows how to rise to the occasion,” he said. “Do stop trying to lure away my best employee, Emma. It’s really unfair.”

“You didn’t have to come to dinner, you know,” Emma retorted.

“Nonsense! I have to stick around to guard my sweet baby sister’s virtue!” Christian slung an arm around Emma’s shoulders. “Erik here is very charming, don’t you know.”

“Emma’s virtue is perfectly safe with me, I guarantee,” Erik deadpanned, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

 _What little of it is left, anyway,_ Emma’s voice said crisply in his mind. _And considering how besotted you are with that childminder of yours, I’d say it’s pretty safe indeed._

Erik flushed and changed the subject. “I don’t think either of you have met the children yet?”

Both Emma and Christian shook their heads. “I remember your oldest, though,” said Christian. “Raven, was it? Charming thing. Gave my secretary quite a fright when she transformed into an exact copy of her and asked where the bathroom was.”

Erik let out a laugh. “Yes, that sounds like Raven.”

“But I’m more intrigued about this new nanny of yours,” Christian continued, leaning forward towards Erik, who was seated in the front seat. “Janos tells me his name is Charles Xavier.”

 _Hell. No._ If Cordelia was a serial dater (not that he’d met the youngest Frost, but the frequency with which Cordelia’s affairs appeared on tabloids and gossip rags was only outstripped by those of Taylor Swift) and Emma an outrageous flirt, Christian was a downright maneater. There was no way Erik was letting him within sniffing distance of Charles. “You may sign my paychecks, but don’t think I won’t do something nasty to your very nice car if you get in my nanny’s pants,” Erik threatened.

“That’s hardly sporting!” Christian protested. “Nestor just waxed this one, didn’t you Nestor?” he said to the driver.

“Yes, sir,” said Nestor blandly.

“I _need_ Charles around to keep my terrors in line, thank you very much,” sniped Erik, “so if you could refrain from sexually harassing him, I’d appreciate it very much.”

Christian needled Erik about Charles all the way to Erik’s house, at which point he began oohing and ahhing over it. “Nothing on the family estate, of course,” he said, in that offensive and yet charming way he had, “but quite lovely.”

Erik sighed. “Thank you,” he said. He’d long ago learned to accept Christian’s backhanded way of giving compliments.

He waved a hand at the gate and waited until it was fully open before giving Nestor the go-ahead to take Christian’s SUV down the driveway. “Does that gate actually have a button or something that opens it,” asked Emma, as she gracefully climbed out of the car, “or do you just do that to impress people?”

“Well, there’s hardly any need to impress _you_ , is there, Emma?” said Christian, waggling his eyebrows.

“Please, Christian, there’s always a need to impress me.”

Now that, Erik could agree on.

“Nestor,” said Christian, unfolding a wad of bills from his wallet and pressing it into his driver’s hand, “go enjoy yourself for a few hours. I’ll give you a ring when I need you to come pick me up.”

“Yes, sir,” said Nestor, tucking the money into his pocket. He gave a short, deferential nod to Christian, Emma, and then Erik, then got back into the car and drove away.

Erik thinned the shields on his mind and projected a thought to the house. _Jean?_

 _Dad!_ His thirteen-year-old daughter’s mental voice practically screeched with delight. _You’re home!_ Then it faltered. _Who’s with you?_

 _Just two old friends of mine_. _Please tell everyone to come down. I want to introduce all of you. Has Charles made dinner?_

 _Yes, Dad, but…_ Jean’s ‘voice’ took on a hint of nervousness. _Charles is mad._

_At whom?_

_At you._

Erik bristled. What on earth could he have done to make Charles angry? _I’ll deal with that later. Just tell everyone to come downstairs, okay?_

_Okay._

“Was that your little telepath?” Emma asked, evidently having heard the little exchange. “Jean, was it?”

“Yes,” said Erik, leading the way up the porch to the front door. “My second youngest. Come in, come in. I’ll introduce you.”

When they entered the house, Erik’s seven children were lined up at the foot of the stairs, much as they were when Erik had first introduced them to Charles. Raven was once again wearing her usual disguise, standing with her shoulders back and her eyes hard and flinty. Hank and Darwin looked apprehensive, and seemed to be studiously avoiding their father’s gaze. Jean and Angel looked openly hostile, the former with her arms folded across her chest and the latter scowling deeply at Emma. Sean was shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, looking up at Emma with the typical fascination of a teenaged boy with an older, incredibly attractive woman. Peter simply looked suspicious.

“Children,” said Erik, “this is Emma Frost, and her older brother, Christian Frost.” He smiled with all his teeth, the way he did when he was nervous. He had a bad feeling about this. These children were Planning Something. “Emma, Christian. These are my children, Raven, Hank, Angel, Darwin, Sean, Jean, and Peter.”

“Very nice to meet you,” said Emma, dredging up an undeniably fake smile.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” said Christian, looking much more delighted than his sister. “You’re all mutants, aren’t you? I don’t suppose you’d care to give me a demonstration - ”

“Hello,” said Charles loudly, stepping into the living room with an apron over his jeans and sweater. “Welcome back, Erik.”

“Charles.” Erik nodded, suddenly remembering what Jean told him. _Charles is mad._ He certainly looked it. A casual acquaintance wouldn’t have noticed anything amiss, but Erik had been living with him for months now, and there were tells. The way Charles’ eyes were narrowed, the distinct lack of a welcoming smile on his face, the stiff way he held himself as opposed to the comfortable slouch he always employed.

_What on earth did I do?_

_Men, you’re so oblivious,_ Emma thought back, although Erik could feel the presence of a barrier, which meant Emma was shielding their conversation from Charles. “Good evening, I’m Emma Frost,” she said, stepping forward to shake Charles’ hand. “Erik has told me so much about you.”

Whatever anger Charles was feeling towards Erik faded in the wake of his hero worship for his academic idol. “Dr. Frost, it’s _such_ a pleasure to meet you!” Charles enthused. “I’ve read all your works. I thought your paper on developing mutant abilities that manifest at birth alongside speech and motor skills was particularly fascinating.”

Emma’s eyes widened with surprise before she recovered. “Why, thank you, sugar,” she simpered at Charles. “Why don’t you take me into the dining room and we can talk more about it?”

Charles, like some lord out of a Regency romance novel, offered Emma his arm. She took it, and away they want, chattering about whatever it was that experts in mutant children talked about.

“Well, looks like Emma and your Charles are getting along famously!” said Christian happily. “And what _is_ that delightful smell?”

“It’s Charles’ cooking,” said Peter, finally moved to words. He gave Christian a wary up-and-down stare, with a stinkeye that was straight out of Erik’s own repertoire of threatening looks. “Charles cooks for us. His food is delicious.”

“Marvelous. Come, children,” said Christian, holding out his hands. “Won’t you take your dear old Uncle Christian into the dining room? I’m _starving_.”

As one, the children turned to Erik with baleful stares, but acquiesced and led Christian into the dining room, where Charles had prepared dinner. Erik counted the places that had been set at the long table and found only ten.

“Are you not joining us, Charles?” he asked.

Charles paused in the middle of his conversation with Emma. “No, Erik, that’s quite all right,” he said tartly. “I’ve already eaten. Call if you need anything else.” He smiled at Emma. “It was very nice to meet you, Dr. Frost.”

And with that, Charles left.

Hank coughed. It sounded a lot like he’d said, “Doghouse.”

 _What on earth is going on?_ Erik wondered.

 _Oh, darling, don’t be deliberately obtuse,_ Emma advised. “So,” she said, beaming at everyone, “these are the infamous Lehnsherr children I’ve heard _so_ much about. Do tell me about yourselves, please.”

 

*

 

If Erik hadn’t lived through Shaw and his experiments, he would have described dinner that night as hell on earth. It was easily a hundred times as awkward as Charles’ first dinner with the family, and even that had been amusing to some extent.

Emma, ever the perfect socialite, made conversation with all the children, womanfully powering on even when the children gave polite but clipped answers. They warmed right up to Christian though, who asked flattering questions about their mutations, and who didn’t make stupid comments like “I wish I was a mutant like you” the way some humans did.

Erik remained quiet throughout, preoccupied with Charles. He hadn’t said anything stupid before he’d left for Vienna, had he? Maybe Charles was ticked off that they hadn’t spoken all weekend? But that was ridiculous. Charles was his children’s nanny, not someone he was dating.

Still, Erik was mature enough to realize that if Charles being angry with him bothered him so much, he should go talk to him. So he waited until dinner was over, the children were safely ensconced in their bedrooms, and Emma and Christian were placated with a bottle of wine, then went to go find Charles.

He found him on the patio, sitting on the white porch swing he’d installed, long ago, at Magda’s insistence. He was reading a book, and there was a sandwich on a plate perched on the swing’s armrest. The sight of the sandwich made Erik angry. So Charles hadn’t eaten after all, and had deliberately avoided being in the dining room with them.

“Jean tells me you’re angry with me.” Erik had intended on being conciliatory, but his tone came out gruff. If Charles intended on being childish, that was just fine with him. He was used to childish.

Charles set aside his book and stood up, careful not to jostle the swing and send his sandwich tumbling to the ground. “Not angry, exactly,” he said. “But I do need to speak with you, if you have a moment. It concerns the children.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. “The children?” he repeated. Emma’s little nudges in his direction had led him to believe that he was upset about her presence in the house, but clearly that was not the case.

“Yes. We’ve had a rather enlightening weekend together, the children and me.”

Erik paled. What had the children told Charles? “What’s happened?” he asked sharply.

“Raven was attacked last Friday.”

 _No. Stryker and Trask can’t be here in New York, Emma’s intelligence puts them in California!_ “By whom?” he demanded. “Did you deal with it? What was - ”

“She’s fine,” said Charles, waving a hand. “Some boys from her school with anti-mutant sentiment. I’ve had them arrested by the police, then I took her to the hospital. She wasn’t hurt.”

The wave of relief that Erik felt was almost palpable in its intensity. “Schoolyard bullies,” he snorted. “Raven’s more than a match for them.” He felt immensely satisfied at the thought of his children, each of which was more than capable of thrashing some weak, helpless human.

Charles looked outraged. “See, that’s your problem, right there!” he said hotly. “You’re so caught up in your zeal for mutant rights and superiority and strength and God knows what else. Do you even see how _wrong_ your response is? Your daughter was in a _fight_. You shouldn’t be talking about how she can handle herself!”

The anger that had been simmering in Erik bubbled up. How dare Charles question how he was raising his children? “I don’t care to discuss my children with you in this manner,” he said coldly.

“Well, you’ve got to hear it from someone,” Charles snapped. “You’re never home long enough, always at work or out of the country.”

“I said I don’t want to hear anymore from you about my children!”

Charles’ face contorted with fury. “I know you don’t but you’ve got to!”

The sheer vehemence of his reply took Erik aback and stunned him into silence. Charles took the opportunity and plowed on.

“Now take Raven,” he began.

“You’ll not say one more word about Raven,” said Erik warningly.

Charles ignored him. “She’s not a child anymore. One day you’re going to wake up and realize she’s a woman, and you won’t even know her! Poor Hank tries so hard with soccer and his academics so you’ll pay attention to him for something other than what his mutation can do. And Darwin wants so badly to be a man his siblings can look up to, someone they can rely on the way they do you.”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Erik hissed. “Don’t you dare tell me about - ”

“Angel could tell you about them if you let her get close to you,” Charles shot back. “She notices everything.”

“How dare you - ”

Charles continued, oblivious of Erik’s rising temper. “And Sean pretends to be tough not to show how hurt he is when you brush him aside - the way you do all of them.”

“That will do, Charles - ”

“And Jean! Talk about noticing everything!” Charles exclaimed. “She hears and sees so much and she _needs_ your guidance, Erik, she needs someone to explain the world to her but you certainly don’t step up to the plate!”

“I said that will do!”

“Peter’s only ten, he’s at an age when boys need a parent more than ever!” Charles snapped. “They’re all so young, all of them, and you treat them like - like _soldiers_ , like they’re going to war. They’re not your private army, Erik, they’re your _family_. You train them to hone their powers and not trust the outside world but you don’t know what they need. They need a father, not a drill sergeant!”

“I don’t care to hear anything further from you about my children!” Erik shouted, well aware that everything Charles was saying was true. He turned away to storm back into the house, but was suddenly frozen in place by Charles’ powers.

“ _I am not finished yet_ \- ”

“Oh yes you are, Charles,” said Erik coldly. “Release me at once.”

Charles blinked, the furious look on his face fading into confusion, then comprehension. “Mr. Lehnsherr, I - I’m sorry,” he stammered, quickly letting go of Erik.

Erik pretended that it didn’t hurt to hear the words _Mr. Lehnsherr_ coming out of Charles’ mouth once more, not when he’d gotten so used to hearing _Erik_. “You will pack your things this minute,” he said slowly, “and return to your apartment in Brooklyn.”

There was nothing but resignation in Charles’ face. “Yes, Mr. Lehnsherr,” he said. He grabbed his book and hurried past Erik back into the house.

As soon as he’d let the words slip, Erik wanted to take them back. He turned to follow Charles, wanting to shout things like _you’re right_ and _I’m sorry_ , but stopped dead at the sight of the warped metal in the windows, the wind chimes decorating the porch destroyed beyond repair. He glanced at the gates and found them crooked, and even the satellite dishes on neighboring houses were bent and knocked over.

But that was only the second worst thing he saw. The first was his children, staring at him through the distorted windows. They were all in their pajamas, having evidently come downstairs to investigate the yelling. And all of them, from blue-skinned Raven to little Peter, wore condemning looks of disappointment on their faces. He didn’t need to be a telepath to feel the waves of disapproval coming off of them.

Rather inanely, Erik thought he felt rather like he was standing on the precipice of a cliff, and it was only now that he was seeing how far up he was.

 _He’s right, you know,_ Emma singsonged in his head. She sounded much too amused for Erik’s comfort.

 _Shut up,_ Erik shot back, then went upstairs. He had an apology to make.

 

*

 

Tears slid down Charles’ cheeks as he stormed up the stairs to his bedroom. _The attic,_ he corrected himself. It was no longer his bedroom.

Why, why, _why_ did he have to go off like that? It was a perfect example of what Moira called his drive to save the day. He couldn’t have just kept his mouth shut, fed the children, picked them up from school, and cleaned the house in between his schoolwork. But no, he saw the children in pain, desperately in need of a caring father, so he’d opened his big mouth and - and -

And now he had nowhere to go, and he’d never see the children again.

His heart broke at the thought, but at the moment, he had a more pressing matter to attend to. _Return to your apartment in Brooklyn,_ Erik had said. But there was no more apartment in Brooklyn.

 _I’ll give Moira a call,_ he thought with a sniff. But the thought of Moira merely made another tear or two well up in his eyes. He hadn’t even gotten around to arranging a day when he could reclaim his books from her and transfer them to his room - _the attic_ , he reminded himself. There wouldn’t be any need now, anyway.

He pulled out his suitcase from under the bed and yanked open the zipper. As he began piling clothes inside, he wondered who the Lehnsherr children’s next nanny would be. He hoped, whoever they were, they’d take the time to listen to each one, to get to know them, their fears and anxieties, their hopes and dreams. They deserved that much.

There was a light tap at the door. Charles sighed and rubbed a hand across his face, drying his tears. He’d been hoping to make this a quick and painless exit, but he’d never refuse to see the children. He crossed the room and opened the door. “Not now, children, please, I - ”

His protest died on his lips. Erik was standing in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically anxious. Unbidden, the memory of Raven coming into his room to apologize for bringing up Emma Frost rose in Charles’ mind.

“Can I come in?” Erik asked, looking anywhere but at Charles.

“Um...sure.” Charles stepped aside and let Erik in, who suddenly looked stricken at the sight of the half-empty suitcase on the floor. “Is there something you needed before I…” Charles had intended to sound very cold and put-together, but his voice caught, and instead he sounded heartsore and incredibly sad.

“Have you been crying?” said Erik incredulously.

Charles rubbed at his eyes. “No,” he said quickly. “Not at all.”

Erik didn’t look convinced. Charles mentally kicked himself and wished his mutation involved something physical that would help him clear his eyes of redness or tears. “I haven’t been crying,” he repeated, more forcefully. “Was there something you needed, Mr. Lehnsherr?” Erik’s surname felt alien on his lips.

“Charles, I…” Erik began, coughed, and cleared his throat. “I behaved badly. I apologize.”

Charles fought the urge to collapse and gasp theatrically. He had a feeling Erik wouldn’t appreciate it. “Oh, no,” he demurred. “I’m far too outspoken, it’s one of my worst faults.”

“You were right, though,” said Erik. From his mind, Charles could sense a vague sense of discomfort, shame, and a clearer image, that of seven faces staring accusingly at him, silently demanding that their father make it right. He was suddenly filled with overwhelming love and appreciation for the children. “I don’t know them,” Erik continued. “Not really.”

“There’s still time,” Charles pointed out. “You haven’t lost them.” _Not yet,_ hangs between them, unsaid.

“It was…” he began, then stuttered to a stop. “When their mother left,” he tried again, sounding small and lonely, “she took a part of us with her. She tied us together, made us a family, and then suddenly, she decided we weren’t one anymore.”

Charles’ heart ached for all of them. “That’s not true,” he said fiercely. “You were a family then with her, and you’re a family now even without her. You must know this, Erik. Those children love you. You’re their father, you’re all the family they have now.”

“Yes, I was just told that, rather forcefully, as a matter of fact,” said Erik, smiling slightly.

Charles blushed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Not for what I said, but how I said it.”

“You were right, anyway,” said Erik, shrugging. “I want so much to protect them that I…I forgot. There’s more to being a father than keeping them safe, isn’t there?”

 _Much, much more,_ thought Charles, but he didn’t trust his voice not to crack, so instead, he nodded.

“Will you…” Erik broke off, looking frustrated with himself. Then, he looked right up at Charles, and Charles struggled to breathe, caught in the green of Erik’s eyes. “Will you stay?” he asked.

How could the answer be anything other than yes? Charles knew his own eyes were glimmering with unshed tears, but he pulled himself together and said, “If I could be of any help…”

“You have already,” Erik murmured. “More than you know.” He nodded to Charles. “Excuse me,” he said, then quickly left the room.

Charles slowly sank down on the bed, almost unable to process what had just happened. But somehow, it finally sunk in that Erik had  _apologized_ , that he’d asked Charles to stay. A foolish grin slowly appeared on Charles’ face, and he just barely managed to resist the urge to start laughing and crying all at once.

 

* * *

 

**_12\. happy are they lay dee olay dee lee o_ **

Emma Frost was not a woman easily moved, but even she had to admit, that scene at the Lehnsherr home was touching. Not enough to bring tears to her eyes or anything so disgustingly sentimental, of course. But touching, all the same.

She was seated at her steel-and-glass desk in the office of her luxurious penthouse suite, surveying the gathered intelligence that had been submitted to her that morning. Scattered on her desk amidst the photos and dossiers were reference materials, papers, research proposals, and various odds and ends that spoke of her life as a world-leading authority on mutant child education. It was an image that never ceased to amuse her. To the rest of the world, she was an academician from a wealthy family, an elegant socialite who, unlike her peers, hadn’t succumbed to the allure of alcohol or drugs. The gossip rags would have a field day if they knew what she did in her free time - hunting down dangerous anti-mutant human purists, dealing with them in a way that the police and courts and criminal justice systems of the world simply could not.

The folder currently occupying her attention was one containing information on Charles Francis Xavier.

Twenty-four years old, the only son of Sharon and Brian Xavier (rest his soul), a certified genius who’d graduated from Oxford at the age of seventeen, and had gotten his first master’s degree from the same school at the age of twenty-one. He was three years into his current program at Columbia, and quite ready to run the whole department if the way his professors raved about him was anything to judge by. He’d worked with the New York State Department of Education on getting their Mutant Section up and running, and he’d also worked with several private schools in the state.

All this, apparently, was not enough for Sharon Xavier, who’d very quickly and efficiently cut her son off. The Xaviers and the Frosts did not run in the same circles, but the scandal was big enough for Emma, who’d been in Marrakesh at the time, to hear of it. (Of course, it helped that Christian was the biggest gossip this side of the Atlantic, and had immediately sent Emma an email with a link to a TMZ article punctuated with numerous open-mouthed emojis.)

Emma’s agents had found evidence of a trust fund that Charles had been entitled to access since he’d turned twenty-one, but Erik had supplied the nugget of information that Charles was holding on to that money to fund his dream of starting an all-mutant school.

Emma sighed. Charles reminded her of herself, before she’d chosen another - more satisfying, but less _legal_ \- career path. She’d been a teacher at one of the most prominent mutant schools in Europe, hoping to make a difference. Her drive was the result of a childhood of painful neglect, brought about by the fact that she and her sisters were mutants, and that Christian was gay. Their parents dying in a car accident was by far the best thing to happen to the Frost siblings. Christian took over the company, and the three sisters were free to pursue their own interests

Emma’s life had changed forever that day she’d accidentally touched Adrienne’s mind. The three Frost sisters had long ago sworn that they would never use their powers against each other, but, as Emma had often explained to Erik, when the mind was excited, it often projected, and Emma was easily the most powerful of the three of them.

The images had assaulted Emma’s mind with all the force of a battering ram. Adrienne Frost was not a telepath - rather, her psychometric abilities allowed her to instantly know the history of anything she touched - so she had no idea how hard she was projecting. The memory of it still made Emma’s head hurt. First, she’d felt an almost vicious kind of happiness, then a thirst for revenge, anger on the heels of a quick flash of their father calling his children a disgrace, the whispered promises of a madman, then the image of a small, redheaded girl crying, calling out for her mother and father.

Emma had been horrified. _Adrienne, what have you done?_  

She’d spent that year looking for one lost mutant child, and she’d found six instead, plus the surly, older mutant who’d designated himself their protector. One thing had led to another and now here she was, going to a considerable amount of effort to ensure that they were all safe.

Really, the things she did for her friends.

She set aside the folder she had on Charles. There was nothing particularly unsavory about the man. In fact, according to the intel she’d received, he was a veritable angel descended to earth.

A little yellow Post-It note caught her eye. It was stuck to the front of a long brown envelope labeled neatly with her name.

 _Emma,_  it read. _Thought this might interest you - NTW_

Emma rolled her eyes. “Still using that ridiculous codename, I see,” she said to herself. She allowed her diamond skin to appear on one finger, and then used the now razor-sharp tip to slit open the envelope.

A sheaf of high-res sniper pics spilled out on her desk. Emma’s eyes widened as she recognized Bolivar Trask and William Stryker, surrounded by security officers, getting out of a helicopter. The rooftop they were alighting on was unfamiliar, but the skyline behind them was.

They were in New York.

Emma could feel her pulse picking up. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down, and picked up her phone. She dialed Erik’s number, timing her breaths to the dial tone so her pulse would slow.

“Emma? I must say, it’s strange to see your name instead of a sat phone number.”

Normally, Emma would have responded with a witty rejoinder, but she was much too preoccupied. “We have a problem,” she said.

The teasing tone of Erik’s voice disappeared. “Where are they?”

“Here. In New York. California must have been a way of covering their tracks. They took a private helicopter.”

Erik swore in German. “Do we need to leave now?”

Emma thought for a moment. “No,” she finally said. “I don’t know yet that they know where you are, and suddenly moving might call unwanted attention to yourself. But I think getting away would be wise.”

“When?”

“Let me snoop around for a bit,” said Emma, lifting a photo of the desk. In it, she could see a waiting sedan ready to whisk Trask and Stryker away, and half of a plate number. “I’ll tell you when I know more.”

There was a moment of hesitation, then Erik asked, “Should I tell the children?”

Emma fell silent. She thought of Erik’s kids, all of them as adjusted, healthy, and happy as they could be, considering the year-long terror they’d lived through. She knew she’d kick herself later on for the moment of softness, but she couldn’t bear to destroy that just yet. “Not yet,” she allowed. “Not while I don’t have a concrete plan yet. When I do, I’ll leave it up to your discretion.”

 

*

 

Hank could hardly believe the change in his father. The only thing that kept him from thinking this was all a dream was the fact that he still occasionally woke up with blue fur in his bed. In his dreams, he was still agile and strong, but his feet looked normal, and he didn’t sprout fur and fangs when he was angry or in danger. So this was definitely not a dream.

There were stumbling blocks, obstacles to being a normal family that couldn’t be cleared in such a short amount of time. But Charles was there every step of the way, with his gentleness and compassion and dedication that, somehow, began gluing their broken family back together.

But the thing that had most shocked Hank was that Raven, manipulative Raven, who held secrets close to her like rare treasures, came clean to Erik about her boyfriend.

Erik had gone very quiet, his lips thinning with disapproval. Charles coughed lightly and gave Erik a _look_ , and Erik had, instead of demanding Azazel’s address so he could go terrorize the poor boy, he’d smiled at Raven (Jean’s mind projected the theme song from _Jaws_ to everyone, prompting a round of giggles which they all tried to smother) and told her to invite him to dinner.

The dinner had gone as well as it could have. Azazel utterly won Charles over with a combination of his dry wit, his stories about his mother, and his clear devotion to Raven. Erik had been less convinced, but nobody left the dinner table with broken bones or missing teeth, so Hank would count it a win. It had been horribly mortifying, and Raven had been clearly anxious, judging by the few inches or so she’d sprouted since Azazel had arrived, an old nervous tic she’d developed in childhood.

All in all, it had been as normal a meet-the-boyfriend dinner as the Lehnsherr family was ever going to have.

Hank hated to admit it to himself, but the sight of Raven and Azazel, _together_ , under Erik’s roof, was giving him ideas. He wanted to tell Erik, he really did. But Alex Summers was _not_ Azazel Fleming. Azazel was the right mix of sarcastic and witty, and he told stories and jokes that made everyone laugh (except Erik, but that was to be expected) and he did all sorts of courtly, gentlemanly things for Raven that made her blush, like pulling out her chair for her and telling her that her smile was beautiful. Azazel was the kind of boyfriend that parents like Erik harrumphed over and disapproved of but secretly liked.

And Alex was…Alex. Infuriating, stubborn, antagonistic Alex, with the loveliest blue-gray eyes and a smile that sent Hank’s heart thudding somewhere in the vicinity of his throat.

Charles kept dropping hints, giving him significant looks over dinner or little mental nudges, but Hank resolutely ignored them all. He was quite fine where he and Alex were, thank you very much, and that was that.

But there was no more time to ponder the one-eighty Erik’s attitude toward his family had taken. The school year was finally winding down, for both the Lehnsherr children and Charles. Summer was just around the corner, and the whole family was looking forward to it. Much to their siblings’ consternation, Raven and Hank were given the last two weeks of school off, since the seniors’ final exams finished early and all that was left was to attend the graduation ceremony. In the fall, both would be off to college.

The acceptance letters from different universities had already poured in. Hank had talked it through thoroughly with both Erik and Charles before finally deciding on Harvard, slightly disappointing Charles, who had wanted Hank to choose Columbia. Raven had applied to NYSD and had also been accepted to her delight, although Angel was full of snide comments about how easily a shapeshifter would be able to get ahead in the fashion industry. As to living arrangements, Hank had already begun exchanging emails with the boy who’d be his roommate, while Raven decided to spend her first year commuting from Bronxville to the city.

It would have all been perfect, if it weren’t for the presence of the irksome Dr. Emma Frost.

It was no secret amongst the Lehnsherr children that they desperately wanted Charles and their father to fall madly in love with each other and get married. That was the way it always happened in movies, wasn’t it? And anyway, it wasn’t like Charles and Erik weren’t attracted to each other. Or, at least, Raven, Angel, and Jean assured the boys that they were.

“How do you know?” Darwin asked doubtfully.

“You really don’t see it?” said Jean scornfully.

“You think it counts as foreplay when they play chess?” Angel added, snickering.

“Ew, Angel, gross!” exclaimed Sean, wrinkling his nose.

“What’s foreplay?” Peter innocently piped up.

“Nobody answer that question,” said Raven darkly, slashing her hand downward in a quick, cutting motion.

Of course, they paid for that little interlude later at dinner when Peter, disgruntled at the fact that his older siblings were keeping something from him, asked Charles and Erik what foreplay was.

Their reactions had been worth it though.

Dr. Frost was the spanner in their works, perpetually at the house or out with Erik in the city now that she was back in the United States from her sojourns abroad. Darwin stubbornly clung to his theory that Erik would tell them if he and Emma were dating. The girls sniffed and called him naive in a disdainful tone that would have done their father proud.

Hank, however, began to suspect something else entirely. And it was a suspicion Raven came to share.

“I have to tell you something,” she said, slipping into Hank’s room, late one night.

Hank listened quietly as she related an incident from when they were younger, and she’d encountered Emma in Erik’s office. “It still feels that way, Hank,” said Raven. “Like she’s pretending. Like this is all a part she’s playing.”

“Yeah, but for whose benefit?” Hank asked. It was like they were children again, sitting in his room or hers, plotting the demise of their various nannies. “She can’t want Dad’s money, the Frosts are loaded.”

“I think,” said Raven, lowering her voice, “it might have something to do with…” She leaned in and whispered. “ _Shaw_.”

“You think so?” Hank whispered back. Shaw wasn’t an ever-present nightmare for them, the way it must have been for Erik. They’d been so young when they’d escaped - he and Raven had only been seven years old, and Jean hadn’t even learned to talk aloud yet, being at that age when most telepathic children still preferred to communicate with their minds. To them, Shaw was a bogeyman from long ago, a shadow that they jumped at, but which could be chased away with the light given to them by their new home, an ocean away from the cold, dark place where he’d kept them. “But I don’t remember her from then.”

“It’s the only thing I can think of,” said Raven, shrugging. “I don’t know how or why Emma would be connected to what happened back then, but I’m starting to get the feeling that it’s related somehow.”

“Or they could actually be in love,” Hank pointed out.

Raven wrinkled her nose. “Dad? In love? Please.”

“Why not? We all want him to get together with Charles, don’t we?”

“Men, honestly!” exclaimed Raven. “Look at the way Dad and Charles are together. He doesn’t treat Emma like that, and Emma’s around the house often enough. We’d see it if he did.”

“Thank God for small mercies,” said Hank dryly.

“We’ve got to do _something_ , Hank,” Raven insisted. “I’ll strangle myself if _Emma Frost_ ends up our stepmother, I really will.”

“Are we so sure that Charles likes Dad, though? I mean, it’s pretty clear Dad’s kind of got a thing for him. But does Charles feel the same way?”

“ _Men,_ ” Raven repeated, disgusted. “ _So_ oblivious.”

A light tapping at the door interrupted their argument. “Hank, is that Raven’s voice I hear in there?” they heard Charles’ voice call out from the hallway. The door creaked open and he poked his head in. “No more plotting from you two, I trust?” he asked sternly.

“Nope,” said Raven sweetly.

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Not against Dr. Frost?”

“Of course not,” Hank replied.

Charles didn’t believe them for a minute. “Come on,” he said, holding out a hand to Raven. “Bedtime. You can save your all-nighters for when you’re bona fide college students. This is your last summer of freedom! You should be getting as much sleep as you can.” He grimaced. “Trust me.”

Hank, personally, had had no plans for his ‘last summer of freedom’, as Charles put it. It was actually Emma, much as everyone hated to admit it, who came up with a good idea for a holiday. “I own a cabin in Montauk,” she said, over dinner one evening. “We should spend a weekend there! School’s out for summer, isn’t it?”

To everyone’s surprise, Erik was completely on board with the idea. “Your eighteenth birthday is coming up, isn’t it?” he asked Raven. “Would you like to spend it on the beach? We can have a bonfire.”

“And drinks, yes?” Angel asked cheekily.

“No,” said Erik, giving his daughter a look, drawing laughter from everyone else.

“I’d like to go to the beach,” said Raven, in the same tone of voice she’d used when she told Charles she and Hank weren’t talking about Emma. “Dad, could I invite Az?”

Erik scowled and opened his mouth, then glanced at Charles, who was innocently tucking into his dinner. “Sure,” he said gruffly.

“You don’t mind, do you Dr. Frost?” said Charles, smiling at Emma.

Emma looked like she was desperately resisting the urge to laugh. “Of course, sugar. And _please_ , do call me Emma,” she said. “Anybody else have any significant others they’d like to invite?” she asked, glancing slyly at Hank.

Hank blushed and looked away. He knew Emma was a mutant, but he didn’t know what she could do. He hoped to hell she wasn’t a telepath. She didn’t seem like she’d have the same strict moral code regarding his powers that Charles did.

“What about everyone else?” Charles addressed the table. “How does a weekend at the beach sound?”

There was a quick, brushing sensation that went through Hank’s mind, which indicated that Jean had linked them all up. There were no words, just a whirlwind of thought that sent images of sun, sand, water, getting to the bottom of the mystery that was Emma Frost, and more opportunities to get Charles and Erik together. There was the general sensation of consensus that appeared when they were in agreement, then the connection disappeared, and the children all began raucously clamoring that yes, they would like a weekend at the beach.

Hank glanced up to see Charles turning a slight pink. _Shit. Telepath,_ he thought.

Luckily, Erik was oblivious, and seemed confused as to why his children were all suddenly very giggly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **I am so sorry that this chapter took such a long time.** I've been very busy with school and work. That's my only excuse. Please don't kill me. :(
> 
> Virtual cookies to Cat, a commenter from the previous chapter, who correctly guessed that Emma's spy is Negasonic Teenage Warhead, who in the comics was one of Emma's students!
> 
> Artistic license claimed for the descriptions of colleges and how the school year works in the U.S., as well as what Montauk looks like. I'm not even from the same side of the world lol so idk.
> 
> Also, I totally lied. The complete back story will be revealed in the next (AND LAST) chapter. This story has totally run away with itself. I didn't intend on making it more than three chapters but the characters just. Wouldn't. Shut. Up.
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who's read and commented! This story is almost over, and I'm so excited to work on the conclusion!

**_13\. every morning you greet me_ **

“You can’t be serious.”

“As the plague,” said Emma cheerfully. “Good morning, children!” she called out, waving to the Lehnsherr brood on the porch, who were all staring at Christian Frost. Or rather, they were staring at his outfit, an eyesore of an aloha shirt, a pair of Bermuda shorts, and those ridiculous brown sandals that tourists always seemed to wear.

The arrangements had all been made, care of Emma. All that had to be done was pack and wake up at the appropriate time. Azazel, armed with his mother’s permission and one battered backpack, had spent the night at the Lehnsherr home so they could all leave together the following morning. They’d risen at the crack of dawn, foregoing breakfast for the last minute scurrying around the house and looking for items that had been left unpacked that was typical of family trips. At precisely six in the morning, two Range Rovers had come trundling up the driveway. Erik had expected Emma to be driving one, and the Frost family driver to be driving the other. Instead, the two cars pulled up to the house and disgorged both Frost siblings, one of whom was currently a walking fashion nightmare.

“I’m surprised Emma let him leave the house looking that,” Charles murmured in Erik’s ear.

“You and me both.”

“A bright morning to all!” Christian chirped, leaping up onto the porch and vigorously shaking Erik’s hand. “Emma mentioned this little holiday to me last night and I thought I could use a weekend away from the city, and so here I am!”

“Here you are indeed,” said Erik dryly. “Where’s your driver?”

“Gave him the weekend off. I’m afraid I’ve been running him rather ragged. Thought you and I could drive to Montauk, what do you say?” Christian dangled one of the keys in front of Erik’s face, which Emma quickly snatched away from him.

“After that spectacular performance you just gave driving up from the city? _Over my dead body,_ ” she said pleasantly. She’d forgone her usual all-white business attire in favor of a pair of denim cut-offs, gray sneakers, and a white cotton top. It made her look less ruthless than she usually did, but also more vulnerable, as though her fine designer clothes were armor.

“Oh, Emma, really, it was just a few traffic cones…”

“Dad, is Uncle Christian coming with us?” Peter asked, looking up Erik with wide eyes. Of all the children, he in particular had taking quite a shining to Emma’s brother. Of course, considering how childish Christian often was, that had come as no surprise. It helped that Peter was easily bribed with toys and video games that wouldn’t have swayed his older siblings, and bribery was something that Christian excelled at.

“I am,” said Christian, holding up a hand for Peter to high-five. “Would you like to sit next to me in the car? I’ve just caught myself a Pikachu!” He pulled out his phone and showed something on it to Peter, some ridiculous game undoubtedly.

Peter’s eyes widened. “Dad, Dad, can I please sit next to Uncle Christian, please?” he begged.

 _What’s a Pikachu?_ Erik wondered, then decided he’d rather not know. “Sure, Peter. How are we doing this?” he said, indicating the cars.

“Can you drive, Charles?” asked Emma, turning her million-watt smile on him.

Charles smiled back and shook his head. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “Never learned how to drive on the right side of the road, I’m afraid.”

Erik couldn’t stop staring. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Charles out of his trademark “grandpa clothes”, as Raven and Angel scornfully called them. That morning, Charles had come down to the kitchen in a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt that was just this side of too tight. It hadn’t been obvious in the loose cardigans and sweaters, but Charles had rather nice arms, and while certainly his chest wasn’t as broad as Erik’s, it wasn’t anything to scoff at either.

Suddenly aware that he was checking the nanny out in the presence of three telepaths (one of them being said nanny), Erik forcefully turned his thoughts back to the problem at hand. “I’ll take one car, you can take the other,” he said, taking one set of keys from Emma. “Charles can ride with me, and Christian can ride with you.”

He did not like the look of the smirk on Emma’s face. “Good thinking, Erik,” she said. “Well, Peter’s riding with us, I think. Who else?”

Erik sized up his kids, deciding which of them was least likely to cause a scene. “Darwin, Sean, and Hank, you ride with Emma,” he said. “Charles and I can take the girls and Azazel.” He resolutely ignored the thrill that went through him at the phrase _Charles and I._

Thankfully, nobody protested out loud. They set about to loading the Range Rovers with their luggage and in no time at all, were headed to the beach.

The night Emma had suggested the trip over dinner, Erik had immediately realized that she was setting her plan in motion. Trask and Stryker must have made a move that worried her, if she wanted them as far away from the city as they could go without rousing suspicion.

He hadn’t told the children. In his life pre-Charles (and how ridiculous was it that he’d now divided his life into pre- and post-Charles) he wouldn’t have hesitated. He would have dropped everything and left, taking the children with him. With the money stashed away in accounts only he and Emma could access, disappearing would be easy as anything. They could have relocated anywhere, gone north to Canada or even to Europe, where Emma had no shortage of contacts who could ease the transition. The Lehnsherrs could disappear into the ether, emerging with new identities, and be safe once again.

Post-Charles Erik was more aware of other things. They’d built lives here, made friends, fallen in love. Raven and Hank were off to college in the fall. He couldn’t do that to them, tearing them away from the only stability they’d ever known.

And, his subconscious slyly whispered, he would miss Charles too much. The thought of never seeing him again made something painful twinge in his chest.

Not that he’d ever admit to himself, of course.

Throughout the whole drive, Erik was hyper-aware of Charles’ presence at his side. He looked far more relaxed than Erik had ever seen him, leaning back in the passenger seat and bopping his head in time to the ridiculous pop music Raven had insisted they play on the radio, practically radiating a sense of calm and contentment.

“I’m so glad you could join us on this trip, Azazel,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the children. “It’s so nice to finally get to know the children’s friends.  

Azazel smiled. “I wouldn’t miss out on Raven’s birthday party,” he said. Blushing cheeks didn’t show up quite as well against blue skin, but no one missed the way Raven’s gaze softened, and the tiny smile that curled her lips. In the back, Angel and Jean mimed vomiting. Luckily for them, their sister was too busy staring into her boyfriend’s eyes to be bothered.

Erik didn’t know what to think of his _Schazi_ having a boyfriend. He had two very distinct images of Raven: the first was of a seven-year-old child with blue skin and red hair, golden eyes filled with tears; the second was of a fiery teenager who knew how to kill a man with her bare hands. Where, exactly, did Azazel fit there?

 _You’re being very unfair,_ _Erik,_ Charles’ voice murmured in his head. _You know she’s entitled to this._

It was rather a mark of how much Erik now trusted Charles that his first instinct wasn’t to slam down the mental shields Emma had taught him how to build. _Please don’t remind me,_ he thought grumpily.

 _Baby steps,_ Charles reminded him, with the mental equivalent of a finger prodding at his shoulder.

“Are you headed off to college after summer, Azazel?” Erik asked, in a tone of voice that one normally reserved for making an appointment at the dentist to have a cavity drilled.

Azazel was smart enough to treat Erik’s question like the olive branch it was, albeit a slightly withered one. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I got into Syracuse University.”

“That’s great!” Charles enthused. “And you’ll still be able to visit Raven, won’t you?”

Azazel shrugged. “That’s why I chose it,” he said, which prompted another bashful grin from Raven. “That, and it’s got a good engineering program.”

That piqued Erik’s interest. “Want to major in engineering, do you?” he asked.

Azazel met his gaze in the rearview mirror unflinchingly. “Yes, sir.”

Idly, Erik wondered if Azazel was trying to butter him up. He shot a questioning glance at Charles and directed the thought towards him. Charles rolled his eyes.

 _Stop being so suspicious. I don’t feel anything but the truth from him,_ he chided. _If it helps any, he’s utterly besotted with Raven. And just this side of terrified of you._

Erik nodded, pleased. It really did help, having a telepathic nanny.

 

*

 

 _I have a cabin in Montauk,_ Emma had said. Hank snorted. Emma’s cabin was a prime piece of Long Island real estate. It was right on the beach, with lots of wide bay windows that let in light and offered magnificent views of the ocean. There were three bedrooms, which, although they had to share - Emma, Raven, Angel, and Jean in one; Azazel, Hank, Darwin, Sean, and Peter in another; and Erik, Charles, and Christian in the last - were spacious enough that they each had their own bed, and only Sean and Peter had to share a bunk bed. There was a pool out back (which Hank thought was ridiculous, who needed a pool when the beach was right there?), and the caretaker had been informed beforehand of their arrival, so the kitchen and wet bar were fully stocked.

If this was a cabin, he was the Jolly Green Giant.

 _The jolly blue giant,_ Jean corrected wordlessly. Sean snickered, indicating that he’d heard.

Unless they were being actively spoken to by one of the adults, all the children (including Azazel, once Raven had filled him in) were communicating almost exclusively using Jean’s mental link-up. The shielding lessons she’d received from Charles, coupled with the fact that Charles actively tried not to listen in on other people’s thoughts, more or less ensured that The Plan remained secret.

(Darwin, Peter, and Azazel had all been for coming up with a catchy-sounding name for the plan, but Angel had called them all lame, which had resulted in a mental squabble that had managed to encompass both cars and had given Charles a doozy of a headache. They’d finally settled on simply calling it The Plan, if only to get everyone to shut up.)

“Children,” said Emma, sauntering out of the bedroom she was sharing with the girls (and hadn’t that just made Raven’s weekend), “your dad and I are going into town to buy supplies for the bonfire tonight. Will you be all right here by yourselves?”

“We’ll be okay,” said Raven, with a significant glance at her siblings. _I know she’s trying to get some alone time with Dad,_ her mental voice echoed in their heads, _but we’ll have the last laugh._

 _Besides,_ Angel added, her mental presence tinged with eagerness, _we can use this time to put Phase One into action._

 _What’s Phase One?_ piped up Darwin from outside, where he was helping Erik unload the rest of Emma’s luggage.

_Discovering for sure just exactly how Dad and Charles feel about each other, and then planting the idea that their feelings are reciprocated._

_Ooh, ‘reciprocated’. Was that your word of the day there, Angel?_ Sean mocked.

 _Would you like me to make it more monosyllabic for you?_ Angel replied sweetly.

 _Please, as if Sean even understands the word ‘monosyllabic’,_ Raven added, prompting the mental equivalent of a snort from Azazel.

 _Cut it out, everyone,_ said Jean urgently. _If we get too loud, Charles might hear us._

 _Guys,_ said Peter from the kitchen, _we forgot about Uncle Christian. He isn’t going into town with Dad and Emma. He’s staying here with us._

 _We could distract him?_ offered Darwin. _Let’s split up._

 _Let’s all split up,_ said Raven decisively. _Peter and Sean, take Christian. Angel, Azazel, and I can go with Dad and Emma. Hank, Darwin, and Jean, you handle Charles._

 _Good idea,_ said Darwin. _Keep Christian away from overhearing any discussions with Charles. Keep Emma away from Dad. Find out how Dad and Charles feel about each other, hint that said feelings might be returned. Are we agreed?_

 _Agreed,_ everyone echoed.

 _Ready, break,_ Hank quipped.

“Hang on,” said Raven out loud, just as Erik and Darwin came in with Emma’s bags. “Can I come with? I could pick out some stuff, right? I mean, it’s my birthday party.”

“Of course, _Schazi,_ ” said Erik. “Does anyone else want to come along?”

“Me!” said Angel, raising her hand. “And Az too,” she added.

“If that’s okay with you, Mr. Lehnsherr,” Azazel mumbled.

Erik looked as though he was about to protest, but he merely nodded. “Anyone else?”

“We’re good, Dad, thanks,” said Hank, resisting the urge to grin.

Emma pressed her lips together, but made no further comment. “What are the rest of you going to do while we’re gone?” she asked.

“Uncle Christian’s gonna catch Pokemon with me and Sean!” said Peter, waving a phone in the air.

Erik frowned. “I’m sure Christian has other things he’d rather be doing - ”

“Nonsense, Erik!” said Christian happily. “I’d be delighted to spend the day with Sean and Peter.” To his credit, Christian did look genuinely pleased at the thought that the two  wanted to spend time with him. If all else failed and they ended up with Emma Frost as a stepmother, at least Christian looked like he’d be an all right step-uncle.

 _None of that defeatist talk,_ Jean thought at Hank. “I want to stay here!” she said aloud. “I wanna go to the beach.”

“I can’t let you go to the beach by yourself, _Liebling,_ ” said Erik, frowning.

“I won’t be alone, Hank and Darwin can take me.”

“I’ll go with the three of you,” Charles volunteered with a sunny grin. “I haven’t been swimming in ages.”

 _Oh, ew!_ Jean mentally squawked. _Dad just thought of Charles in swim trunks!_

 

* * *

 

_**14\. small and white, clean and bright** _

Raven, Azazel, and Angel piled into the Range Rover while Erik stood outside, impatiently tapping his foot. Emma was still in the cabin, having decided last-minute to change her clothes. “I simply can’t be seen in this, it’s all grungy and sweaty,” she’d said, plucking at her blouse - which, to Angel’s eye, still seemed pretty immaculate.

“So, what’s the plan?” said Azazel in a low voice. Hilariously, he’d gotten pretty invested in the Lehnsherr children’s plan - although whether that was because he genuinely wanted to see Charles and Erik get together or Azazel simply liked fucking with people, Angel wasn’t too sure.

“We need to split Dad and Emma up,” said Raven, ever the tactician. “It’d be helpful if we could get dirt on Emma - I _still_ don’t know what her deal is - but priority is getting Dad to talk about Charles.”

“I can handle Emma,” said Angel quickly. “You two take Dad.”

The three fell silent as the subjects of their conversation got into the car, arguing. “It’s a barbecue and bonfire on the beach, Emma,” said Erik, looking as though he was fighting off a massive headache. “Not one of your fancy galas. We don’t _need_ an event coordinator.”

“A party is a party, Erik,” said Emma primly. “Besides, it isn’t everyday your little girl turns eighteen, now is it?” she added, turning to smile at Raven, who looked rather alarmed.

“A party planner isn’t necessary, really,” she rushed to say. “I’m happy with just hotdogs and burgers and a cake.”

“There, you see?” said Erik. “Give it a rest, Emma, no need to call in the cavalry.”

Emma harrumphed and put away her cell phone. “One day,” she said, as the Range Rover pulled away from the cabin, “I’m going to show you all what a _real_ party is.”

“I’m sure you will,” Erik replied dryly, “but until then, let us be with our pedestrian preferences, I beg of you.”

The drive into town was quick, punctuated only by Emma’s attempts to initiate conversation with Raven and Angel, which they met with enough friendliness to make Erik suspicious. He scowled at them in the rearview mirror, but Raven and Angel merely smiled innocently. Azazel’s pokerface was similarly impenetrable.

“What do we do first?” said Erik, once they’d found a suitable parking spot.

“I made a list!” said Emma cheerfully, rifling around in the little purse slung on her shoulder. “Honestly, where would you all be without me - here, I’ve got non-food items on this one, food on this one, and alcohol on this one,” she added, showing everyone three slips of paper.

“Me and Dad can go pick out food,” said Raven quickly, snatching the appropriate list from Emma. “Az, you coming?” she threw over her shoulder as she clambered out of the car.

“Raven, wait!” Erik called out.

“I’ll go with Emma, Dad,” said Angel, in her most sugary tones. Years of sweet-talking the janitors into not telling the teachers that she occasionally smoked under the bleachers had honed her persuasive skills into an art form.

Erik paused, smiling at Angel. “Thank you, _Engelchen,_ ” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Angel smiled back, luxuriating in the odd sensation of her father showing affection.

Of all the Lehnsherr children, it had been Angel who’d felt the most lost when Magda had left, adrift, unsure of her identity. She was no genius like Hank or Darwin, she wasn’t a particularly powerful mutant like Jean or Raven. She wasn’t cute and endearing like Peter, or a mischievous prankster like Sean. As far as Angel was concerned, she was a run-of-the-mill high school student who just happened to have wings and acidic saliva. It had only ever been her family who’d seen more, who’d seen beyond, and when Magda had abandoned them, it had destroyed Angel’s certainty, her faith that her family would always be there for her.

Charles’ arrival in their lives had done much to restore it.

The moment was interrupted when Raven, already at some distance, hollered, “Come _on,_ Dad, let’s go!”

Erik rolled his eyes. “Coming, _Schazi,_ ” he said in a long-suffering tone. “Be good for Emma, _Engelchen._ ” He turned to Azazel. “Come on,” he said. “Your girlfriend summons us.”

Angel suppressed a snort of laughter at the looks of commiseration on Erik’s and Azazel’s faces. Raven really didn’t have a thing to worry about, she thought. The two were more alike than they could ever imagine, insofar as they were both at Raven’s beck and call, anyway.

Pasting a poisonously sweet smile onto her face, Angel turned to Emma. “Shall we?”

Not even five minutes into their excursion, Angel regretted her magnanimity in letting Raven and Azazel go with Erik. Emma talked like it was going out of style, babbling on and on about what cocktails she should serve, if Raven already had an outfit in mind, whether or not she should invite the neighbors, and so on and so forth. Angel nodded at appropriate moments, wishing she had Jean around so she could at least telepathically complain.

They were in one of the higher-class liquor stores, with Emma deciding between two bottles of white wine, when her phone rang. “Won’t you please excuse me, darling?” she said, shoving the wine into Angel’s hands. “I’ve been expecting this call.”

Angel watched as Emma sashayed out of the store, answering her phone with a trilling, “ _Hello-o-o-o-o!_ ” A wide smile exposed her professionally whitened teeth. “Darling, it’s so good to hear from you!”

Angel grimaced. _Of all the people in the world Dad could have taken up with,_ she thought disdainfully.

She stopped in her tracks, suddenly remembering Raven’s words. However flighty she acted, there was something off about Emma Frost, and aside from keeping her away from Erik while Raven and Azazel grilled him, Angel was also supposed to be figuring out what was what.

“Can you ring these up, please?” she said, leaving the wine bottles with the man at the cash register. “I’ll be right back, my - uh - aunt had to step out for a bit.”

Leaving the store, she spotted Emma hurriedly making her way down the street, phone pressed to her ear. Angel glanced around furtively, made sure no one was watching, and unfurled her wings.

She took to the air with unbridled enthusiasm. Flying for her wasn’t at all like flying for Jean - you couldn’t really call what Jean did _flying_ , anyway. Jean levitated herself. Angel’s flight was more organic. Her whole body worked to propel her, from her wings to her arms and shoulders all the way down to her toes. She interacted with the world around her, the clouds and air currents and the sun shining high above. Erik didn’t allow her to fly for long periods of time, afraid that she’d be spotted. So when she could, she savored every moment.

She allowed herself the luxury of a quick loop, then flew off after Emma, making sure to hover some distance above her so she wouldn’t be seen.

“Yes, I got them away from the city,” Emma was saying impatiently. “Christian tagged along, unfortunately. But he can be handled. The problem is the nanny.”

Angel drew a sharp intake of breath. Charles. She was talking about Charles.

“A telepath,” Emma said, apparently in response to a question. “A powerful one. Alpha-level, at least. Forget about getting past his shields, I couldn’t even touch them. It’s a good job his defenses are so strong they prevented him from sensing me. He doesn’t know anything.” She snickered. “It’s hilarious, he’s totally Erik’s type. If the situation weren’t so dire, I’d - ” Emma fell silent, listening intently.  “You can’t be serious,” she said in a heated whisper. “How many? Do we have intel on them?”

 _I need to get closer,_ thought Angel. She flitted downward and into an alleyway, craning her neck around the wall. Emma was pacing back and forth, and luckily, seemed much too absorbed in her conversation to notice her surroundings.

“Two of them,” she said. “Stryker’s men?” Her eyes widened. “ _No._ Mutants? But why would mutants agree to - never mind, I don’t care. The important thing is that they’re here. I need to warn Erik.” She nodded. “Keep me posted.” She ended the call and pocketed her phone.

 _Shit._ Angel flapped her wings and hurried back to the liquor store, barely making it back before Emma. She allowed her wings to melt back into her skin, skidded into the store, and grabbed randomly at the first bottle within reach, so that when Emma reentered, she whirled around and presented Emma with the bottle and a beguiling smile. “Do you think we could get some of this?” she asked frantically, hoping against hope that Emma wouldn’t hear her thudding heart, or notice the sheen of sweat on her forehead.

“Brilliant of you, darling!” Emma exclaimed, taking the tequila Angel had grabbed. “Margaritas are a must for barbecues. Not for you though, I should think, or your father will have both our heads. Now then, let’s see about that wine?”

 

*

 

Jean loved the beach, but not for the reasons her siblings did. The other Lehnsherr children liked the beach just as any other teenager did - it meant summer, it meant fun, it meant swimming and laughter and time away from school. Jean, on the other hand, loved the beach for its noise. The crash of water, the shrieks of seagulls overhead, all of it helped drown out the voices. With all the activity around her to focus on, the buzz of people’s surface thoughts faded to a muted hum in her subconscious, one she was barely aware of.

“You have to learn to tighten your grip, figuratively speaking,” said Charles. The two of them were seated on the sand, several feet away from the edge of the water. Charles had brought along a large blanket, as well as a hamper of chips and chilled fruit juice. In the distance, Hank and Darwin were tossing a Frisbee back and forth. “When you’ve mastered your shields, it becomes second nature, and maintaining them no longer takes as much effort. Put some more sunblock on, sweetheart, you don’t want to get burned.”

Jean took the proffered bottle of sunblock and slathered some on her shoulders. “I just feel like I’ll never get the hang of it,” she complained. “It’s so hard to keep focus.”

“Practice makes perfect,” said Charles. “I know you’re tired of hearing it, but you’ve got to learn. Surely you don’t want the inside of your head to be so loud for the rest of your life.”

“How did _you_ manage it?” she asked curiously. “Did you have anyone teach you how?”

Charles shook his head. “No,” he said. A look of pain flashed on his face, and then it was gone, as fast as it had come. “I had to learn on my own.” Suddenly, he smiled. “Would you believe that Emma helped me develop my shields?”

Jean’s mouth dropped open. “No way.”

“Way.” Charles laughed. “I’d managed to get the hang of shielding when I was at Oxford. Being surrounded 24/7 by people who hated that a thirteen-year-old mutant was as smart as them helped. Desperate times, and all that rot. But I had to really work on my concentration. Just like you, if I lost focus for even a second, my shields broke.”

“How does Emma fit in here?”

“A paper Emma had written had been published in the Journal of Human Genetics,” said Charles. “She was a senior at Cambridge at the time. Her article talked about how control wasn’t innate, that every mutant could learn how to handle their abilities with the proper instruction and preparation. Didn’t go so well with the academic community, of course.”

“Of course,” said Jean, in a tone of voice that was pure Erik.

“It inspired me,” said Charles. “The point of her article really hit home. Every mutant, no matter how powerful or destructive, is capable of learning self-restraint. It’s a philosophy I’ve carried with me my whole life. So you see,” he continued, raising an eyebrow, “I’d very much appreciate it if you would all cease and desist in your attempts to make life difficult for my childhood hero.”

Jean flushed. “You said you wouldn’t read our minds!” she said accusingly.

“I didn’t.” Charles popped the top off a bottle of grape juice and took a long, luxurious sip. “But it doesn’t take a telepath to figure out you children are up to something.” He offered Jean the bottle. “Would you like some?”

Jean huffed and accepted the juice. “I can’t understand what Dad sees in her.”

Charles mumbled something that sounded a lot like, “You and me both.” But then he coughed and cleared his throat. “Nonsense, Jean,” he said. “Emma’s beautiful and very smart - ”

“Not as smart as you,” Darwin chimed in. He and Hank were walking over, apparently finished with their Frisbee game.

“Was Emma getting a _second_ master’s degree by her early twenties?” asked Hank archly.

“Boys, really, you’ll turn my head with your flattery,” Charles replied. “Are you hungry? Here,” he said, passing out chips and soda.

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of crunching as Hank and Darwin demolished a large bag of chips each. Then, Hank looked up and asked, “Do you think Dad has a thing for Emma?”

Charles choked and coughed. “I really don’t - your father’s personal affairs are no business of mine.”

“He’s all wrong for her, though,” Darwin pointed out. “They’re much too alike.”

 _Success,_ thought Jean, tamping down a grin. Charles looked like he was, albeit unwillingly, being drawn into the conversation. “Isn’t that what makes a couple good, though?” he asked doubtfully. “Having lots of things in common?”

Darwin shook his head. “I didn’t say they had a lot of things in common,” he said. “I said they’re _alike._ They’re both so intense about - well - _everything._ Dad doesn’t need someone like that. He needs someone who can calm him down.” He cast a shrewd look at Charles.

Charles looked gobsmacked. “You mean _me?_ ”

“You’re good for Dad,” said Jean hurriedly. “You’re good for our family. No one knows that better than us.” She indicated herself, Hank, and Darwin with a  wide gesture meant to encompass the rest of their siblings. “You and Dad have this - oh, what’s that word, it was in my last English vocab test,” she muttered to herself.

“Rapport?” Hank offered helpfully.

“Yes! That’s it. Rapport.” Jean beamed at Hank. “Thank you.”

“If you mean the chess games - ”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Dad doesn’t get along like that with _anyone,_ ” he said. “He’s got friends at Frost Industries - he’s not antisocial - but you get him on a level that no one else does. Nightly chess games and scotch? Debates about mutant rights? Cooking dinner together? Please Charles, you’re practically married.”

“Don’t forget that night you two were really going at it like you were gonna get a divorce or something,” Jean added. “Charles, Dad _apologized_ to you. I didn’t even think the word ‘sorry’ was in his vocabulary!”

“Dad likes you,” Darwin volunteered. “Like, _really_ likes you. He always looks at you when you enter a room and he thinks no one can see.”

Charles blushed. Jean sent the mental equivalent of a high-five to Darwin. Time for the killing shot. “We’d like you better for a stepdad than Emma as a stepmom anyway,” she said, in her most beguiling tones. “At least we know you actually _care_ about us.”

“You don’t even know that Erik plans to marry Emma,” Charles reminded them, but Jean could feel warmth and stunned happiness radiating from Charles’ mind. _He’s touched,_ she sent to her brothers. _He’s happy that we like him._

“It makes sense though,” said Hank, in the patient tone he always employed when explaining homework to his younger siblings. “Emma’s an academic, but she’s also a socialite. There’s always some rumor or another linking her with some guy or another. If she wanted to stop all the paparazzi chasing her asking when she was going to settle down, actually getting married is the perfect way to do it.”

“Dad’s a good choice too,” continued Darwin. “He works at Frost Industries, he’s friends with her brother, he’s rich like her so he can’t be accused of wanting her money or vice versa.”

“The only fly in _that_ ointment,” said Jean, wondering if she’d used the correct idiom - her English teacher was always harping on about the importance of expanding one’s vocabulary, “is that _we_ don’t like her.”

“What Jean means to say,” said Darwin, shooting her a look, “is that there’s someone else we’d much rather prefer was in a romantic relationship with Dad.”

“Me.”

“Yes,” Hank, Darwin, and Jean said in unison.

“But I - ”

“Look,” said Jean, allowing a little bit of impatience to seep into her tone, “can you honestly say that you don’t feel _anything_ at all for Dad?”

The slight flush on Charles’ face not only deepened, it spread to his ears and the back of his neck. Jean sympathized. Being extremely pale had its downsides, chief of which was the inability to cover up a blush. Still, Jean had her answer.

“Well then - ”

“Hey!” a loud, familiar voice called out. “I didn’t know you guys would be here too!”

Charles and the Lehnsherrs looked up. Alex and Scott Summers were walking down the beach towards them, waving. The brothers looked like models straight out of an American Eagle catalogue, Jean thought, rather uncharitably. Both wore t-shirts, shorts, flip-flops, and expensive-looking sunglasses. They exuded the kind of clean-cut all-American good looks that Jean felt masked an enormous sense of pretentiousness and entitlement.

She ignored the tiny voice niggling in the back of her mind that said she’d barely exchanged two words with Scott Summers since they’d moved to Bronxville and started at their school, and so she really shouldn’t be judging him so.

“H-hi Alex,” Hank stammered. “Hi Scott,” he continued, in a steadier voice. Jean looked at him consideringly. That was interesting.

“Alex Summers, we meet again,” said Charles, a sly smile playing on his lips. Even more interestingly, both Hank and Alex blushed. Jean frowned and decided to get Angel and Raven in on this. Hank was practically begging to be interrogated.

“Hi, Charles,” said Alex, smiling at him with gritted teeth. “This is my brother, Scott.” He glanced at Jean. “He’s in the same grade as Jean.”

“Hi, Scott,” said Jean politely. Scott was popular in her grade, the kind of person everyone instantly liked. He got good marks and was attentive in class, which put him in the teachers’ good books; but he was also good-looking, funny, and outgoing, which pretty much assured that every kid wanted to be his friend. Jean had, upon meeting him, dismissed him as one of those empty-headed golden boys, loved by everybody but with no substance otherwise. Seeing him here, however, out of school and with his brother, was intriguing, and made Jean want to reevaluate.

“Hi!” said Scott, beaming at all of them. His sunglasses were different from Alex’s. While those of the older Summers brother seemed to be classic Ray-Ban Wayfarers, the lenses of Scott’s glasses were a dark red color, and thicker too, and the frames seemed to be tightly affixed to his face rather than merely sitting on the bridge of his nose.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Scott,” said Charles, reaching out to shake his hand. “Would you like to join us?” He indicated the blanket spread out on the sand.

“No thank you,” said Alex politely. “We were just walking back to our place and saw you so we thought we’d say hi.”

“Where are you staying?” inquired Hank casually. Much too casually. Jean didn’t believe it for a minute.

“Next door, if you can believe it,” said Alex with a thin smile, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the cabin next to Emma’s. It was only a little smaller than hers, and it had no pool, but it was still clearly the summer home of someone very rich. “It’s just me and Alex though. Our dad was supposed to take us, but he got called away on business. Again.” He rolled his eyes.

“It was _so_ cool,” said Scott enthusiastically. “Alex was like, ‘Screw this, we’re going on vacation.’ Then we packed our bags and took Dad’s car. He’s gonna _flip_ when he gets home,” he added gleefully, like the prospect of an angry Mr. Summers was something to look forward to.

It was, Jean reflected, kind of cute.

Charles frowned. “I’m sorry Mr. Summers wasn’t around to take you on vacation,” he said.

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it, Charles,” said Alex hurriedly. “I totally called Dad when we got here. He was pissed, but he’s cool with it.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, but let it go.

Alex cast a surreptitious glance at Hank - which no one but Jean noticed. “How long you guys here for?”

“Just for the weekend,” Darwin replied, oblivious to the tension simmering between Alex and Hank. Or, if he was aware of it, he assumed it was simply remnants of their old soccer field rivalry.

Jean’s mind was working in overdrive. It was just like Charles had said. You didn’t need to be a telepath to know that they were up to something. “Hey,” she said, “I’ve got an idea. It’s Raven’s birthday party tonight. We’re having a barbecue and bonfire right here on the beach. Why don’t you join us? I’m sure Raven won’t mind.” She really wouldn’t, once Jean explained that she suspected something was going on between Alex and Hank. Raven was always game for a good plot.

“Great idea, Jean,” said Charles. “I don’t like the thought of the two of you being all alone in there tonight,” he said to Alex and Scott. “Come over - oh, around five-thirty, I guess? No need to bring a present for Raven.”

“Are you kidding me?” Darwin exclaimed. “There’s _every_ need to bring a present for Raven.”

 

* * *

****

**_15\. you look happy to meet me_ **

Erik, Emma, Raven, Azazel, and Angel returned from shopping, weighed down with food, paper plates, plastic cups and utensils, and decidedly more alcohol than was appropriate for a party where only four people could legally drink. Whether or not Erik was aware of just how much tequila was currently residing in Emma’s fridge, Charles didn’t exactly know, but he wasn’t about to ruin the mood, which had turned decidedly festive.

He had done his best to put the conversation he’d had with Hank, Darwin, and Jean out of his mind, occupying himself with the various chores that _still_ needed doing when one was on vacation with a bunch of fresh out of school teenagers. But no matter where he went, Erik was right _there_ with his ridiculous eyes and that ridiculous smile and his ridiculous voice that sent a shiver skittering down Charles’ spine.   

“Jean’s invited two more guests,” said Charles. He and Erik were in the kitchen, preparing lunch. The children were out by the pool, along with Emma and Christian. “Alex and Scott Summers. Their father owns the house next door.”

“Alex Summers?” repeated Erik disbelievingly. He stood at the kitchen counter, supervising a knife as it chopped lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers of its own accord. “That kid Hank practically mopped the floor with last year?”

“Really, Erik, be fair. Alex got in a few good jabs of his own.” Charles bit his lip, wondering what to say without giving away Hank’s secret. “You know teenage boys. One good fistfight and it’s like they’re blood brothers.”

“If you say so. Are they humans?” Erik asked.

Charles rolled his eyes. “You have got to stop being so suspicious, my friend,” he said. “But to answer your question, they’re both mutants. Alex can produce plasma beams, remember? I don’t know what Scott can do, but it’s something to do with his eyes, I’ll bet.”

“How d’you figure that?”

“He was wearing a pair of sunglasses when we met them on the beach. They’re fitted to his face, and the lenses seem specially-made,” said Charles. “I suppose I’ll ask Scott when they get here.”

“What about their father?” Erik moved to stand beside Charles, scraping the vegetables he’d chopped into a bowl at his elbow. Charles was acutely aware of the warmth of Erik’s body behind him, and the clean, crisp scent of his aftershave. The man really was too attractive for his own good.

“It’s just the boys, I’m afraid. They said their father’s away on business.”

“Do you know, I’ve never actually met Mr. Summers,” said Erik. “Can I help with that?” he added, nodding at the chicken breasts Charles was shredding. Charles shook his head, but instead of going to sit down on one of the bar stools, Erik remained at Charles’ side, turning to lean against the countertop. He was distractingly close. Charles was suddenly aware of how soft Erik’s lips looked - it was so at odds with the rest of him, the hard planes of his body and his own stubborn, immovable nature. “I don’t think any of the other parents have, it’s quite mysterious.”

“I’m sure the staff must know him,” said Charles, trying very hard not to have a heart attack. “It’s very sad though.”

“Hm? What is?”

“That Mr. Summers has hardly any time for his sons,” said Charles.

Both of them fell silent, evidently thinking of that fight on the porch that had changed their relationship forever. In the time that had passed since then, not once had they talked about it. It was easy to see that Erik had taken Charles’ words to heart, had begun the long and arduous process of putting his family back together. But what all of that meant for the two, for whatever it was brewing between them, neither could even begin to say.

Charles thought of the children’s assertions that Erik had feelings for him. Good God, he didn’t even know if he _had_ \- no, that was inaccurate, and Charles didn’t like lying to himself. He _did_ have feelings for Erik. The initial attraction - and really, he couldn’t be blamed, Erik was an extremely good-looking man - had been compounded by Erik’s dry wit, his sharp intelligence, and his obvious devotion to his children.

What Charles didn’t know was what he was going to do about it.

They finished making lunch in silence that was just this shy of being awkward. Charles was grateful for the stampede of children in swimsuits and towels that rushed into the kitchen, demanding to know what was for lunch. “Chicken wraps and garden salad,” he answered, holding his hands up to stop the tide of drenched adolescents. “Out, out, everyone out! You’re dripping all over the floor!”

The tide receded with many giggles, calling out, “Sorry, Charles!” but not sounding sorry at all. Looking highly amused, Emma swanned into the kitchen, wearing a white silk robe over a white bikini, her long hair pulled up in an artfully tousled topknot. “Don’t worry about it, Charles,” she said, flapping a hand at the mess the children had made. “We’ll have lunch on the patio. Erik, be a dear and clean this up, won’t you? I’ll help Charles with the food.”

Erik gamely mopped up the water his children had tracked into the kitchen. By the time he rejoined them all, their gracious hostess had gotten the children, Charles, and Christian comfortably settled around the long deck table on the patio. Lunch was a gloriously riotous affair, the noise and chaos sufficient enough to draw Charles away from his earlier thoughts.

It also helped that Charles and Emma were seated next to each other, and were soon fully absorbed in discussion about the school Charles dreamed of setting up. He was well aware that he was confiding in the woman who would, in all probability, one day be Mrs. Lehnsherr, but he couldn’t help it. It was a small enough price to pay to have the renowned Dr. Frost’s approval of his ambitions.

 

*

 

After the table had been cleared and the dishes washed (by a protesting Christian, who Emma insisted needed to earn his keep, and, “Give poor Charles a break, he’s the children’s nanny, not yours!”), everyone returned outside. The children wasted no time in hurrying back to the water, while the adults were content with the pool chaises, sharing an excellent bottle of scotch Christian had brought along. Erik was only too content to let Charles monopolize the conversation with the Frost siblings. He reclined on his own chair, a pair of sunglasses propped on his nose, and enjoyed the summer sunshine. This was most definitely one of Emma’s better plans. He and the children had never gone on vacation as a family before, and if they had to hide while Emma’s agents swept the city and made sure Stryker and Trask were nowhere in sight, Erik was glad they could at least hide somewhere with lovely weather and an ocean view.

 _Speaking of the view…_ Unable to help himself, Erik glanced up at Charles. The man was utterly animated, eyes wide open, cheeks flushed slightly, waving his hands to illustrate a point as he conversed with Emma. It was so charming, the way Charles applied himself to any task with single-minded fervor. Everything from conversing with a guest to his academic endeavors, and even watching over Erik’s children, was treated like a mission of the utmost importance.

The sight of Charles forcibly reminded Erik of the conversation - no, interrogation - he’d suffered at the hands of his eldest daughter. Raven was a masterful manipulator. Erik had often wondered if it was something that just came naturally to her, or if she’d learned how over the years. In the span of one grocery shopping trip, Raven had somehow managed to confirm that Erik was attracted to Charles, as well as slyly imply that the attraction was reciprocal.

Raven’s words had set off a train of thought Erik was powerless to derail. There was no denying the fledgling feelings he was developing for Charles, sweet, funny, intelligent Charles, so clearly adored by the children - who, if the way Raven and Angel had neatly engineered it so that he and Emma were separated, were eager to see their father and their nanny fall passionately into each other’s arms. The image of a swooning Charles was too much to resist, and Erik let out an undignified snort of laughter.

Charles glanced at him, a slight smile curving his lips. “Something funny?”

Erik shook his head. “Just remembered something.”

“What is it?”

“Oh - um - nothing, really…” Suddenly, Erik was certain that Emma was staring at him, her trademark smirk already in place. He flushed and turned to face the pool. “Children, go reapply sunblock,” he ordered, ignoring the prickling on his skin that meant Emma was still looking at him.

“I’ll get it!” Peter volunteered, hauling himself out of the pool. In less than the time it took Erik to draw breath, Peter darted into the house and was back outside. Only, instead of carrying the jumbo-sized bottle of sunblock Charles had been thoughtful enough to pack, he was carrying a guitar. “Dad, Dad, look what I found!” he said excitedly, hurrying at a more sedate (well, sedate for Peter anyway) pace to Erik’s side. He thrust the guitar into Erik’s lap, a broad grin spread over his impish face.

“My goodness, I thought I’d seen the last of that wretched thing!” Emma exclaimed. “Christian, don’t you remember - when your therapist told you learning to play an instrument could help lessen your stress?”

“Did it lessen his stress?” asked Erik, raising an eyebrow,

“Yes, but it increased ours. Christian was a terrible guitarist.” Emma sipped her drink. “Do you play, Erik?”

“Oh, he does!” said Raven suddenly, clambering out of the pool. She hurried over to the adults and slipped into her robe, settling herself on Erik’s chaise lounge, just by his feet. “He’s quite good, you know,” she added.

The children seemed to take some unspoken cue from her - and it did not escape Erik’s notice that they all seemed to be communicating mentally, if the significant glances and raised eyebrows they were shooting at each other were any indication - and left the pool, leaving a trail of puddles behind them as they surrounded the adults, clamoring for Erik to play something.

“You used to play, don’t you remember?” insisted Angel, wrapping a towel around herself and plopping down cross-legged onto the ground.

“That’s wonderful, Erik, why didn’t you ever tell me you could play the guitar?” said Charles, looking far too amused for Erik’s comfort. “Go on, play us something.”

“That was a very long time ago,” said Erik, discomfited. _Five years,_ he thought. There was a multitude of things in his life that he associated with Magda, and had been subsequently banished to his subconscious when she’d left. This was one of them.

“I remember, Dad,” said Hank quietly. Something in the tone of his voice made the children quiet down, and Erik knew they were all remembering the same thing. Those dark days in the cells beneath Shaw’s lab, the comfort of music at night when the guards were asleep and no one was watching. Magda’s voice, soft and melodious, as she sang the old lullaby, then taught Erik and the children the lyrics.

Wordlessly, Erik took up the guitar.

The children settled themselves around the adults, exchanging excited grins. Unable to help himself, Erik glanced at Charles. He was smiling as well, but there was something in his eyes, something soft and intimate that made Erik want to kiss him. He put that thought out of his mind and worked on tuning the instrument.

One of the first things they’d done when they arrived in the States was to go out and buy a guitar. Magda had taught him to play that song, the one that had kept them sane in the darkness, and he sang it to the children when they woke up screaming from their nightmares.

When Magda had left, the guitar, along with any of her things she’d left behind, had been thrown out. But Erik never forgot the song.

And, judging by the dawning comprehension on the children’s faces, neither had they.

He let the melody flow from his fingers, the words coming easily, as though it hadn’t been five long years since he’d last sung them. It was a simple song, light and sweet, although the memories it evoked were anything but. “ _Edelweiss, edelweiss, every morning you greet me…_ ” 

For the first time since she’d left, Erik thought of Magda without any rancor. He remembered her bravery, how she’d risked everything to bring some small measure of solace to him and the children. “ _Small and white, clean and bright, you look happy to meet me,_ ” he sang, thinking of her small hands working quickly as she treated the children’s various injuries, her encouraging smiles and whispered words of comfort. “ _Blossom of snow may you bloom and grow, bloom and grow forever_.”

He heard his girls singing, under their breath. “ _Edelweiss, edelweiss, bless my homeland forever._ ”

Austria hadn’t been their home - especially not after all they’d suffered - but Magda had been born there, had grown up there, and had left it all behind to help them. He could never forgive her for leaving her own children, but perhaps, he could understand. She had hurt them all irreparably, but for five years, they had been home and hearth, and that had to mean something.

It was time, Erik thought, to be free of Magda’s ghost, the spectre of everything she’d left behind. It was time to stop being so angry, allowing his relationship with his children to suffer the consequences of Magda’s mistake.

It was time to let go.

 

*

 

Emma watched the family, finding herself actually enjoying the music. Erik strummed the guitar and took the song to its second verse, nodding at Raven, Angel, and Jean with a smile to indicate she should join him. Their voices blended together perfectly, his deep baritone echoed by the girls’ softer, lilting voices. They made for a surprisingly good quartet, although the lack of surprise on the other children’s faces told Emma that this was something they already knew.

She looked up from her glass at Erik, who was looking straight at Charles. There was far more tenderness on his face than Emma had ever seen, excepting the rare moments of emotion he’d shared with his children. Charles’ own eyes seemed a brighter, almost incandescent blue, practically glowing with emotion as he watched Erik and his family.  

Charles, Emma mused, was good for Erik. She and Erik were much too alike, all fire and ferocity and anger. Erik didn’t need someone to stoke his flames, he needed someone to temper him. Charles was exactly the sort of person who could do that. He was stubborn and steadfast in his own right, meaning Erik wouldn’t run roughshod over him, but he was also careful, rational, a peacemaker. They complemented each other wonderfully, Erik and Charles, and Emma just knew together, they would be a force to be reckoned with.   

It was just too bad that Charles was in the dark about everything, and if Erik and Emma had their way, he would remain so. That was one thing Emma knew Erik couldn’t bring himself to do - bring someone else into the fold of the secret he and his children shared.

“ _Small and white,_ ” Erik and the girls sang together, their voices making a perfect harmony, “ _clean and bright, you look happy to meet me._ ”

Erik gestured at the other children, inviting them to sing with him. “ _Blossom of snow may you bloom and grow, bloom and grow forever,_ ” all seven sang, grinning at each other. “ _Edelweiss, edelweiss, bless my homeland forever…_ ” Erik strummed the guitar, producing the last few notes, and the music and the children's voices faded away into a spellbound silence.

“ _B_ _rava! Brava!_ ” Christian leapt to his feet and applauded. “Say the word, Erik, and I can have all of you signed up by a record company. A family of singers - it’s so charming! Like something out of the last golden days of the 30s.” He winked. “I think you’ve found your true calling.” 

“Really, Erik,” said Emma dryly, “if you’d told me you had this sort of talent, I would have brought along my harmonica.”

Erik scowled. “Just an old lullaby I used to sing to the children when they were younger,” he said, handing the guitar to Peter. “Return this where you found it, please,” he said. Peter rushed into the house and was back outside in a trice, the guitar back in its rightful place.

_Good job, Peter._

_Yeah, good job! Never would have thought of it -_

_Did you see the look on Charles’ face?_

_Yeah, he looked like Dad he was the best thing since sliced bread!_

_They’ll have made out by the time we had back to the city._

The last statement was followed by the sensation of disgust, mostly from the boys.

Emma sipped her scotch to hide the smirk curling her lips. Jean’s shields were good, for a young girl with no formal training in defensive use of her abilities, but they were no match for Emma’s own immense powers. From the minute she and Christian had arrived at the Lehnsherr residence that morning, she’d caught the faintest whiffs of telepathic contact. It had been child’s play to insinuate herself past the shields Jean had erected. Not that she made a habit of eavesdropping on the private conversations of a bunch of teenagers, but she’d been curious, and the discovery that the Lehnsherr children were plotting to get their father and the nanny together was just too precious.

Under normal circumstances, Emma would have even offered them her services. After ten years of having each other’s backs, she and Erik had, against all odds, become friends, and the one thing she knew beyond a doubt about him was that he needed someone like Charles. But this trip was much more than a simple summer beach getaway, and Erik simply couldn’t afford to get distracted.

She thought back to the news she’d received earlier that day. Two of Stryker’s men - mutants, no less - had followed them to Montauk. Mentally scanning the entire town one by one would take too much time, not to mention draw attention to herself. She’d just have to keep her eyes open then, and hopefully head off any trouble. After all, they were only two agents. She and Erik had handled much, much more.

Emma glanced at Angel. The poor girl had no idea that Emma had known she was there, listening in; or that Emma had taken the memory of what she’d overheard. She and Erik had already agreed - until there was an absolute need to do so, they wouldn’t inform the children.

She needed a distraction, something to occupy the family while she worked her magic and tried to dig up the identity of Stryker’s spies. The bonfire later that night would be perfect. The children would be busy pushing Erik and Charles together, and Christian would certainly enjoy the variety of booze available, which would more than make up for the lack of handsome men to flirt with.

“Charles,” she called out, lowering her sunglasses, “should we start preparing for the barbecue? If we wait any later we’ll be eating at midnight.”

Charles checked his watch. “You’re right, Emma, thank you,” he said. “Christian, would you help me with the drinks, please?”

Christian perked up. “I’d be delighted to, Charles,” he said, following Charles back into the house. “Do you know, I make an _excellent_ mojito…”

“Come on, Erik,” said Emma, getting to her feet. “You can help me get the grill out.” She crooked a finger at him, and led the way to the little pool shed behind the house. They had quite a lot to talk about.

 

*

 

“That _woman,_ ” Raven was snarling under her breath, clenching her fist. “She’s ruining our plans!” She spat out a few more rather creative and anatomically impossible insults, while Jean and Angel soothingly petted her and Darwin promised dire consequences if Peter repeated Raven’s words in the presence of an adult.

Hank left them to their own devices, grabbed his t-shirt and towel from where he’d left it on the porch, and hurried to the beach. Raven’s temper tantrum would keep his siblings occupied for a while, and hopefully, by the time they noticed he was gone, hopefully they’d assume he’d gone in to help Charles and Christian.

Alex was waiting for him on the beach, sitting down cross-legged on a towel laid out on the sand. Hank privately thought that there was nowhere else that suited Alex quite like the beach. His blond hair and tanned skin looked even more golden in the sunlight, and he exuded a calmness that was distinctly lacking when they were at school. “Hi,” he said, joining Alex on the towel.   

Alex smiled at him, and Hank’s knees went weak, the way they always did. “Hey, bozo,” he said, slinging an arm around Hank’s shoulders and pulling him close. He smelled like a warm, comforting mix of his cologne and seawater.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” said Hank, leaning on Alex’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to Montauk?”

Alex grimaced. “I didn’t think the trip was going to push through,” he said. “You know Dad, he never keeps his promises. I didn’t want you to get your hopes up. But then it was like Scott said. I was fed up with Dad always bailing on us so Scott and I took the car and…” He shrugged. “Here we are.”  

“Here you are,” said Hank, smiling.

They were silent for a long while, but it wasn’t an awkward, tense silence. It was the kind that made Hank feel like he and Alex had their own world, and here, alone on the beach, with only the tides and the sand and the wind to keep them company, it certainly felt like it. Many of the stolen moments Hank and Alex had were rather like this. It was a stark contrast to how they interacted in their daily lives, every exchange boisterous and exuberant. Since the brawl on the soccer field and the subsequent detentions, the school had known Alex and Hank as the kind of friends that one often found on an athletic team, affection displayed in loud and rambunctious ways. Their time together, out of sight, was a nice change.

The quiet allowed for Hank’s thoughts to wander - and, unfortunately, not in a pleasant direction. High school was officially over, and all that was left was their graduation ceremony the following week. He and Alex had not talked about where their relationship was going, at all. Hank suddenly realized he didn’t even know where Alex was going for university. He’d immediately told Alex the good news about Harvard, but while Alex had been full of effusive congratulations, he hadn’t reciprocated by telling Hank what school he’d be off to in the fall. Hank hadn’t pushed the issue, but he knew that they only had this one last summer together before college began, and he didn’t know where they stood.

He opened his mouth to broach the topic, but what came out instead was, “You’re coming later, right?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah, definitely,” he said. “Are we the only non-family guests though? It might be a bit awkward.”

“Nah, Az came with us on this trip.”

Alex goggled at him. “You mean Raven told your dad about her and Fleming being together?” He shook his head, impressed. “Your sister’s got balls.”

“That’s so sexist,” said a horrifyingly familiar voice, from somewhere behind them.

There was a flurry of sand and swearing as Hank and Alex disentangled themselves from each other and scrambled to their feet. Raven was standing behind them, wearing Azazel’s button-up shirt over her bikini. “I wondered where you’d gone,” she said to Hank.

 _Shit._ “I - um - ” Hank stammered.

“Jean told me we were going to be having some extra guests tonight,” she said blandly, examining her nails. “And when she said who, and then I noticed you were gone, well…” She indicated Hank and Alex with an imperious wave of her hand.

Alex was turning red and looked on the verge of turning round and fleeing. Hank was sure he wasn’t any better off. His stomach was clenching itself into knots, and he felt his hands grow cold and clammy. “Raven, I - ”

Raven rolled her eyes. “Oh, honestly, Hank!” she said crossly. “Do you think I’d tell on you? _Me?_  Please. Your boyfriend’s an idiot,” she said to Alex.

“An idiot who got into Harvard,” Alex fired back, which made Hank blush and Raven smirk.

“An idiot who’ll be missed if he doesn’t get back inside soon,” Raven added. “You can continue this charming little tableau later at the party. Just, you know, make sure Dad doesn’t see.”

If the children had their way, Hank knew, Erik would be far too busy with Charles to pay any attention to his own son’s amorous conquests. “I’ll see you and Scott later, Alex,” he said, waving goodbye.

Alex waved back. “I’m definitely not bringing your sister a present,” he called.

“Charming, Summers. Real charming,” sniffed Raven.

Hank laughed. He supposed he and Alex could have a conversation about their future some other time. After all, they had the long, heady days of summer to look forward to. Why ruin this one moment of lighthearted happiness with all that seriousness?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY I LIED. THERE'S GONNA BE TWO MORE CHAPTERS. PLEASE FORGIVE ME. THIS STORY HAS TOTALLY RUN AWAY WITH ITSELF MY GOD.
> 
> I'm also really sorry for the _intensely_ long wait. Real life, as always, was being a bitch. I hope this makes up for it though!
> 
>  
> 
> **ETA 19 September 2016: Charmian Carr, the actress who portrayed Liesl in the film adaptation of _The Sound of Music_ , passed away last Saturday. Rest in peace, Charmian. You will forever be sixteen going on seventeen in my heart.**

**_16\. regretfully they tell us, but firmly they compel us_ **

The party was well underway by the time Alex and Scott Summers arrived, bearing a gift of a hastily purchased bouquet of flowers for Raven. The birthday girl, lovely in a white summer dress that contrasted well against the blue of her skin (a gift from Emma, incidentally), graciously accepted the flowers after a stern look from Charles.

The nanny in question stood at Hank and Darwin’s side as they struggled to light the bonfire before the sun completely set. “This is rather more difficult than it looks,” he said, frowning at the distinctly unlit wood.

Hank stood with his hands on hips, scowling as Darwin and Azazel emptied two bottles of lighter fluid over the grouped driftwood. “I have an IQ of 200,” he said crossly. “Lighting a bonfire should _not_ be this hard.”

“If only one of us had a mutation to do with fire,” mused Darwin, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Can’t you evolve into one or something?” Angel asked. She and Jean were seated cross-legged on the sand, watching Charles, Hank, Azazel, and Darwin struggle with the bonfire. In the distance, Sean in his flight suit was soaring over the water, having finally mastered the right angle at which to project his voice. Peter was playing Frisbee with himself, hurling it far away and then using his superspeed to run and catch it.

“I don’t think my mutation really works like that,” said Darwin. “It seems to only really activate when my life is in danger.”

“Your life _will_ be in danger if we don’t get this fire started up,” Jean complained. “It’s getting cold. I’m freezing!”

“I’ve got someone who can help!” Raven announced, swanning onto the beach with the Summers boys in tow. “Dad, you remember Alex and Scott?”

Erik, cooking burgers at the grill, glanced up. “Of course,” he said. “Hello. Make yourselves at home.”

“Hi, Mr. Lehnsherr,” both murmured, managing to look up at Erik before their gazes skittered away. Charles smothered a laugh. Even in an old jeans and a henley, flipping burgers at a grill, Erik was intimidating, all height and piercing eyes and that deep voice.

“That’s Emma,” Raven continued, “and her brother, Christian.” She pointed out the Frost siblings. “Emma was nice enough to let me have my eighteenth birthday here.” She smiled insincerely at Emma, who was perched on one of the Adirondack chairs they’d set up in the sand. Christian was in the chair next to hers, strumming idly (and rather tonelessly) at his guitar.

“Hello, boys,” said Christian, waving. “Welcome to the party!”

“Hello,” Emma echoed, pleasantly enough. Her gaze practically bored into Alex’s, and he shifted nervously and quickly looked away.

 _What was that all about?_ Charles wondered, but his thoughts were interrupted by Raven. “Alex can light the fire,” she said, tugging the two boys over to the pile of wood.

“Nuh-uh,” said Alex, raising his hands defensively. “My aim is shit. The last time I tried to do that, I nearly burned down someone’s shed.”

“Your aim was just fine when you attacked Hank on the football field,” said Angel, grinning.

Alex scowled and opened his mouth to snap back, but Scott surprised everyone by meekly raising his hand and saying, “I can do it.”

Everyone glanced at him. He reddened in embarrassment. “I mean, if there’s no one else to do it,” he muttered. “My aim’s a bit better than Alex’s.”

Alex’s eyes softened - although Charles correctly guessed that if anyone pointed it out, Alex would handily beat them up. “Go ahead, little brother,” he said. “You might wanna step back though,” he added, glancing around at everyone.

Excitedly, Charles and the children scrambled away from the bonfire. Alex patted Scott’s shoulder, then stepped back and joined the others. Scott swallowed nervously, then removed the dark red sunglasses, revealing eyes clenched shut. He took slow, deep breaths, as though he was calming himself, then he opened his eyes.

A jet of red light shot out, cutting through the air and hitting the wood with a forceful blast. Quick as anything, the light disappeared, leaving a bonfire crackling merrily inside a ring of slightly singed sand.

“ _Woah,_ ” the Lehnsherr children all said in unison, eyes wide with shock. They glanced back at Scott, who was trying to put his shades back on with his eyes closed.

Peter and Sean, who had rejoined the group, turned to Scott with awestruck looks on their faces. “Why’d you just stick to throwing punches on the field if you could do that?” Sean demanded, obviously referring to how he and Scott had quickly jumped in when Alex and Hank had gotten into that big fight.

“That was amazing!” Peter cried out, with all the exuberance of a ten-year-old boy who’d just seen something explode.

Scott grinned sheepishly. “Thanks,” he said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

“What a marvelous mutation you have there, Scott,” said Charles enthusiastically, as the children began gathering around the fire, murmuring admiringly at the black marks in the sand. “The same sort of energy blasts your brother produces? Only coming from your eyes. How interesting!”

“Hey,” said Alex angrily, “my brother’s not some lab specimen you can just - ”

Raven rolled her eyes. “Cool it, Alex,” she said. “Hank told you. Charles is one of us.”

“I’m sorry, Scott, Alex, I meant no offense,” said Charles earnestly.

“None taken,” the Summers brothers said in unison.

“Why don’t you go enjoy the beach?” said Charles, gesturing at the other children, who were now joyfully shedding their clothes and hurrying into the water. “We’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

Azazel took the opportunity to swoop in and scoop Raven into his arms. Her surprised shriek was cut off as Azazel disappeared, leaving behind the smell of sulfur, and reappeared in the water. “ _Azazel Fleming!_ ” she screeched,  and everyone on the beach winced.

“I think we’ll go help bail Fleming out of the trouble he’s in,” said Alex, grinning. “Race you to the water!” he hollered at his brother, taking off.

“No fair!” Scott yelled, outraged, following Alex down the beach.

Emma sighed deeply. “That dress was silk,” she said mournfully, as Raven shucked off the white garment and left it floating in the ocean. Still screaming, she rushed forward and tackled Azazel, while her siblings egged her on.

Erik rolled his eyes. “Shows what you know about teenagers, buying one a silk dress,” he said to her.

“I’m just glad they’re having fun,” said Charles, joining the adults by the grill. He flipped open the cooler Christian had carried down from the house and got himself a beer. “Want one?” he said to Erik.

“Please.”

Charles fetched another beer for Erik, popped it open and handed it over, then took the chair next to Emma. “Thank you for the dress, though,” he said to Emma. “It’s lovely. I’ll have Darwin get it later. At least I know he won’t drown.”

“It was no trouble at all,” said Emma, waving away Charles’ thanks. “Your daughters are very lovely, Erik. They should be wearing pretty things.”

“Don’t say that where they can hear you. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Charles smiled, but felt his enthusiasm flicker a little bit. Despite the children’s assertions that Emma didn’t care about them, it was so very obvious she did. The trick, he thought, was not to call her out on it. She seemed to be the sort of person who’d find it offensive on a personal level if anyone ever implied that she was anything less than the stone-cold ice queen she presented to the world.

In short, there was nothing about her at all that made her and Erik unsuited for each other.

Charles’ heart clenched painfully, but he ignored it. Tonight was about Raven, and the Lehnsherr family. It was neither the time nor the place to assess his infatuation with Erik.

 _You could take a peek,_ a voice whispered in his head. It sounded, in Charles’ opinion, an awful lot like Jean. _Just a quick peek. You wouldn’t even have to go in very far._ Emotions - especially strong emotions, and attraction was one of the strongest, the least easily hid - hovered not far from the surface, where any enterprising telepath could take the most cursory of glances. It was why empaths were much more common than telepaths. Emotions were a lot more transparent than thoughts.

 _No,_ Charles thought to himself. He wouldn’t violate Erik’s privacy like that, no matter how awfully tempted her was.

Dinner was a welcome distraction. The kids caused a commotion by fighting over the buns and the condiments, which Charles gladly refereed, if only so he wouldn’t have to see Erik and Emma exchanging flirtatious banter. Rather than try to insinuate himself into the adults’ conversation, Charles busied himself with the children, scolding Peter for putting sand in Angel’s burger, insisting that Sean take his wings off before eating, and reprimanding Raven, Azazel, Hank, Darwin, and Angel for trying to sneak some of the alcohol from the cooler.

*

 

If, a year ago, you’d told Erik that he’d be spending the first days of the summer vacation at the beach with his children and a grad student he was nursing a massive crush on, he’d have laughed in your face. But here he was, helping Charles clear up the dishes, while the children rushed back to the water to get in some last-minute swimming before it got dark. Emma was opening a bottle of wine, while Christian was accompanying the children into the surf.

“Aren’t you going to join them?” Charles asked, gesturing at the elegant swimsuit Emma was wearing underneath a gauzy robe.

“I’m great here, thanks,” she said breezily, pouring herself a drink. “Erik, would you like one?”

“You go on ahead, Emma,” he said, “I’m going to help Charles clean up.”

“Erik, really, that’s not necessary - ” Charles protested, but Erik shook his head.

“Charles, please, you’ve done quite enough this weekend,” he said firmly. “Please, let me give you a hand.” He helped Charles carry the dishes into the house, ignoring the prickling on the back of his neck that meant Emma was staring at him, familiar smirk most likely in place.

The house was dark and quiet, making Erik keenly aware of the fact that he and Charles were alone. The smell of saltwater and fresh air floated inside with them, reminding Erik that they were far, far away from the city and their responsibilities. For a moment he could imagine that there was no Emma and everything his friendship with her entailed, no children to whom he owed his sanity and had vowed to protect with his life. Just him and Charles and a house on the beach.

 _Ridiculous,_ he thought to himself. There was no point in wishing for something that never could be. And anyway, not even for Charles would he trade the life he’d built with his children, as annoying as they could be, sometimes.

While Charles loaded the dishwasher, Erik went to the fridge to retrieve more wine. He unearthed the second bottle Emma had purchased, and found several more bottles of tequila and vodka in the back. “Emma,” he muttered to himself, rolling his eyes.

“Did you say something, Erik?”

“Hmm? Oh, it’s Emma, this is _way_ too much alcohol for all four of us to drink in one night,” said Erik, eyes narrowed.

And then suddenly Charles was there, pressed fully up against him, chin propped on Erik’s shoulder as he peered into the fridge. Erik was swamped with Charles’ scent, his cologne and the light of sheen of sweat and the ocean and wind.

Charles laughed. “Oh, Emma,” he said fondly, “she’s putty in your daughters’ hands, you know that? I bet Angel convinced her to buy this.”

Erik rolled his eyes and shut the fridge, turning round to face Charles. “Just because Emma was going round drinking champagne when she was just out of diapers - ”

He stopped, cut off by the sight of Charles’ face. His eyes seemed impossibly blue in the dimming light, and his lips much, much too red for Erik’s comfort. Not for the first time, Erik thought of how breathtakingly gorgeous Charles was. He wasn’t lovely in the way Emma was, coiffed and perfect and utterly flawless. But he had his own kind of rumpled, endearing charm that made everyone, from sarcastic teenage mutants to their grumpy father, like him.

 _I could love you,_ Erik thought, before he could snatch the idea back and bury it in the recesses of his subconscious. But that in and of itself was a lie. It wasn’t that he _could_ love Charles. He was already halfway there.

“If you don’t want this,” Charles said slowly, “if I’m misinterpreting this in any way - please don’t be mad.”

“Charles, what - ”

And then as easily as breathing, Charles was kissing him.

For one heart-stopping moment, Erik’s mind was completely blank. Then, all at once, he realized that this was _Charles,_ Charles’ lips on his, Charles’ hands sliding up his arms and shoulders to wrap around his neck, and that galvanized Erik into action. He circled one arm around Charles’ waist, the other coming up so his hand could cup Charles’ face, thumb lightly stroking his cheekbones. Erik had imagined this moment a million times, passing flights of fancy, but even in his wildest fantasies he could never have known this. The taste of beer in Charles’ mouth, the scintillating sweep of his tongue. Charles clung to him like the last port in a storm. Erik, never one prone to poetic thoughts, found himself thinking of electricity, infinitesimal flashes of lightning dancing along his skin.

And then, as suddenly as it started, it was all over. Charles let go of Erik and stepped back, eyes wide. “I - I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t - ”

“Charles,” said Erik, sounding pained, “ _please._ Don’t.”

Charles looked down. Erik could feel his whole body stiffening. “Don’t what?” he choked out.

Erik tipped Charles’ chin up with one finger. His blue eyes almost glittered, and were filled with fear. It hurt Erik to see it. “Don’t apologize,” he said. “Don’t say this was a mistake.” He’d wanted this, dreamt of it since that night Charles had opened his eyes, had put him on the path to fixing his family. He didn’t want to hear Charles speak of regret.

Something like hope began to glimmer in Charles’ eyes. “I heard - ” he began, then blushed and looked away. “I heard - in there - ” He gestured vaguely at Erik’s forehead. “I was telling myself all night that I wouldn’t look. I wouldn’t check to see how you feel about me. But you were thinking it so loudly and I just couldn’t help myself and…” He trailed off, the red on his cheeks deepening.

 _How you feel about me._ The words made Erik pale. They implied that Charles had feelings for him, that perhaps all the chemistry and attraction wasn’t one-sided on Erik’s part. But there was one enormous roadblock standing in the way of him and Charles being together, and until Erik was sure that Trask and Stryker were no longer an issue, he wouldn’t put Charles in harm’s way by involving him in the Lehnsherr family’s problems.

“Charles, I - ”

A scream pierced the air, cutting Erik off. It was not the delighted shriek of a girl being dunked into the water, or a child being chased by an older sibling. It was a scream of terror, and Erik had grown adept at telling the difference. He’d heard too much of the latter not to.

Without even pausing to think, he let go of Charles and ran out of the house, fear a solid, ice-cold weight in his stomach.

The scene on the beach was like something out of his worst nightmare. A squadron of armed men in black fatigues swarmed onto the sand from two large vans parked by the house, attempting to corral the children into a tight circle. It only took Erik a split-second to take stock of the situation. Emma and Christian were knocked unconscious ( _please not dead please please not dead_ ), their bodies laid out next to the remnants of the bonfire. The children were fighting - Raven and Azazel each took on two men at a time; Angel was in the air, carrying Peter who was red-faced and crying; Hank had transformed, his blue fur distinguishable from a distance as he roared and cut through swathes of their attackers; Alex and Sean were struggling under the weight of three men pinning them down; Darwin, his skin transformed into solid stone, was shielding Scott and Jean from gunfire.

The sudden sweep of anger was comfortingly familiar in his mind, a fire he knew how to wield to its fullest extent. But more than that, he felt a chilling clarity, a cold determination that _no they won’t hurt them I won’t let it happen again_ taking root in him and settling deep down, meeting the fury head on. Rage and serenity whirled in him like a maelstrom of power, and he lifted his hand.

All the men flew up into the air, held aloft by the various metal buckles, belts, and straps in their clothing. Almost contemptuously, Erik flicked his other hand. The men’s rifles, grenades, and knives detached themselves from their bodies and hung midair, several feet away from their owners.

Erik wasn’t aware of consciously making the decision to take to the air. All he knew was that he was rising up, buffeted by the earth’s magnetic field, until he was level with the men who’d attacked his family, and he could clearly see the terror in their eyes. “Did you think,” he said, in level, quiet tones that practically echoed in the deathly silence, “that you could come for my children and walk away unharmed?”

Still floating, the rifles and pistols rotated until they were pointed at the men.

“ _Erik!_ ” Charles cried out, his hands cupped around his mouth. A mouth Erik had just kissed. But he couldn’t think about that now. “Erik, please don’t do this!”

“Your pacifist ways have no place here, Charles,” Erik replied. His voice was calm, almost as though he and Charles were, once more, debating over dinner, or a game of chess. “They came here intending to kill my children. I won’t let that go.”

“Please, Erik,” Charles begged, “they were just following orders.”

Erik thought of the doctors, the men in white lab coats who prodded and poked at them, heedless of their terrified cries and tearful entreaties to stop. The guns-for-hire who stared at them through the bars of their cells with barely disguised disgust, who took too much pleasure in roughing them up whenever Shaw deemed it necessary. “We’ve been at the mercy of men following orders,” he said. “Never again.”

“ _No!_ ”

At first, it felt like Erik’s vision was blurring. Then it was like a fog had descended around him. This was nothing like what Erik had seen by the pool that night, when Charles had frozen his children in the midst of mischief-making. This was total sensory deprivation.

“Let me go, Charles!” he bellowed.

 _Erik, you’re better than this,_ a voice spoke in his head. _You’re better than them. The Erik I know isn’t a cold-blooded killer._

 _You’re wrong,_ Erik thought back. He projected, hard as could, the sights and sounds of death, the satisfying feeling of sending a bullet floating from his palm and straight into someone’s heart. He thought of blood and the light dying in a man’s eyes. He needed Charles to _see_ , to know that the Erik Lehnsherr Charles thought he knew was a lie. Everything he’d thought they could have, that kiss, a life together with the children, all of it was impossible.

 _No,_ Charles replied, arrogant, stubborn, resolute. _That may have been who you were. But look at who you are now. You’re a father, and your children love you. That should matter to you more than anything._

Suddenly, Erik was aware of the seven young mutants still on the beach, watching the unfolding spectacle with terror and trepidation.

That, more than anything, brought Erik back to his senses.

When he could see again, he’d floated back down to the ground, and so had the men. They were all unconscious, lying prone on the sand. He looked at the children, and for a moment, all was quiet. Then the dam broke, and all seven Lehnsherrs ran forward, crying or laughing as their varying temperaments demanded, and enveloped Erik in a many-armed hug.

Alex, Scott, and Azazel followed at a slower pace, Emma and Christian - newly-returned to the land of the conscious - following behind them. Dimly, Erik was aware of Charles rushing towards them and joining the hug, stroking cheeks, clasping hands, assuring himself that everyone was alive.

“Is everyone okay?” Erik asked, glancing around and doing a quick headcount.

“We’re fine,” said Emma. She had a bruise on her temple, and blood was leaking from a nasty gash across her forehead. “Bit banged up, but nothing too bad.”

“What happened?” Erik demanded. “You were supposed to keep watch - ”

“I was!” Emma cried out. She looked stricken. Guilty, almost. It was enough to stop Erik in his tracks. He’d never seen Emma so unsettled. “They had psionic blockers. I couldn’t sense them coming.”

“And when you removed their weapons, you removed the blockers as well,” Charles theorized, “which was how I was able to put them to sleep.”

Erik spared a glance for the unconscious guns-for-hire. “We need to go,” he said, shifting into survival mode, once he’d ascertained that none of the children were hurt. “More will come.”

Emma nodded. “Five minutes,” she said to the children. “Grab what you can. Go.”

Obediently, the Lehnsherr kids hurried back into the house, leaving Alex, Scott, and Azazel with the adults. Erik turned to them, suddenly heartsore at the thought of these three kids having been pulled into the mess that was their life.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “There’s no time to explain right now, but - ”

“We’re not going anywhere,” said Alex, scowling deeply. “Not after what we just saw.”

“Alex - ”

“I don’t know what kind of deep shit you’re in, Mr. Lehnsherr,” said Azazel firmly, “but I’m not leaving Raven. And I’m willing to bet all the vodka in Russia that Summers here isn’t about to leave Hank, either.”

Alex blushed, but said nothing. “You said there would be more coming,” he pointed out instead. “It doesn’t take an idiot to see that there were more than seven kids here tonight. They’ll be looking for us too.”

“He has a point, Erik,” said Charles softly.

The sound of his voice reminded Erik that the Alex, Scott, and Azazel weren’t the only ones who’d been unwittingly dragged into this mess. “Charles,” he said, almost unwilling to meet those startlingly blue eyes. Guilt gnawed at him, an unfamiliar, entirely unwelcome feeling. “I’m so - ”

“Please don’t,” said Charles, smiling hesitantly. “Don’t apologize.”

Erik recognized his own words thrown back at him, and resisted the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Well,” said Emma briskly, “if everyone’s coming along, we need to grab our things and get going.”

“Where, exactly, are we going?” said Erik.

“Back to the city, of course!” Christian spluttered, suddenly speaking up. He was pale, and had a black eye, but otherwise looked unharmed. “We’ve just been _attacked_ , didn’t you all see? We have to call the police, or - or - ”

Emma sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This was _why_ I didn’t want you coming along,” she muttered.

“What on _earth_ are you talking about?”

“I’ll explain everything later,” said Emma breezily. “Come along, Christian, we’ve got to get your things.” She placed a hand on Christian’s shoulder and led him away, murmuring to him in a low, soothing voice like he was a spooked animal.

Erik felt absolutely wretched. This was _his_ war. Emma had insinuated herself into it, and the children were involved thanks to Shaw. But Christian - and for all his internal complaining, Erik really did think of Christian as a friend - hadn’t deserved to be dragged into this. Neither had Alex, Scott, and Azazel, who were all only involved in this mess because they were friends with his children.

“Erik?” said Charles hesitantly, touching his shoulder. “If you really need a place to go, where these people won’t think to find you - I have an idea.”

 

* * *

 

**_17\. I flit, I float, I fleetly flee, I fly_ **

Azazel’s teleporting abilities, it seemed, extended further than anyone could have imagined.

Charles wanted very much to sit him down with a cup of tea and talk about his mutation -  he theorized that Azazel could somehow perceive this plane of existence seconds before his powers activated, and could simply choose a point to reappear - but this was hardly the time or place.

Of the group, only Emma and Christian seemed unimpressed - and considering the magnitude of the Frost fortune, Charles hadn’t really expected anything else. Erik and the children, on the other hand, were taking in the Xavier estate with wide-eyed awe, although in Erik’s case it was very carefully concealed.

“You grew up _here?_ ” Angel whispered.

“What the hell are you doing working for Dad? You’re loaded!” exclaimed Darwin.

Charles smiled grimly.  “Long story.”

“Honestly, Charles, I don’t know how you survived,” Erik drawled sarcastically, “living in such hardship.”

It was a feeble attempt to diffuse the tension with humor, but Charles appreciated it all the same. “Yes, well,” he said, shrugging. “I should warn you, though,” he added. “My mother and I - it’s complicated. And I…” He trailed off. “You’ll see,” he said instead. “Erik, would you get the door, please? I don’t have a key.”

Erik frowned, but nodded and flicked his wrist. There was a click, and the heavy wooden doors swung open, the hinges creaking with disuse.

 _Now or never,_ he thought to himself, and then very nearly laughed aloud. It was, he remembered, the same thing he’d thought to himself before entering the Lehnsherr house for the first time.

And now here he was, on the run with them, evading some kind of black ops team that wanted Erik and his children. Life was funny that way, sometimes.

Erik had a _lot_ of explaining to do.

Still, that could wait until _this_ particular interlude was over. He led the way into the foyer, gesturing at everyone to drop their bags in the corner. “Mother?” he called out, trying not to let his nervousness seep into his voice. “Mother, are you home? It’s Charles.”

There was no answer.

“Mr. Parker? Mrs. Nelson?” Charles tried. “I’m back.”

“Who’re they?” Peter asked, nudging discreetly at Charles. “Mr. Parker and Mrs. Nelson, I mean.”

“The butler and the housekeeper,” Charles answered. This was strange. Sharon’s silence was all too understandable, considering how often she was lost at the bottom of a bottle. It had fallen to Mr. Parker and Mrs. Nelson to keep the house up and running. They’d been Charles’ staunchest defenders when Sharon had disowned him, and he thought they’d have come running at the sound of his voice, overjoyed to have him back. He’d been counting on their help with convincing his mother to let them stay.

“Mr. Xavier? Mr. Charles Xavier?” a voice called out.

A young woman with cropped blond hair, dressed in a nurse’s scrubs, entered the foyer from the living room. She crossed the floor and extended a hand. “My name’s Patrice Terry. I’m sorry, I wasn’t told that you’d be visiting,” she said, with a bland, pleasant smile.

Charles took Patrice’s hand and, in the time between one breath and the next, gleaned all he could from her mind.

Sharon Xavier was dying.

Liver cancer, the doctors said. She’d been diagnosed six months ago, and had refused treatment. She’d fired all the servants, hiring a nurse to look after her instead, and a couple of daytime maids to clean up the house. She spent her days lying in bed or sitting in a wheelchair in the gardens, content to wait for her ultimate demise.

Patrice’s thoughts were colored with a tinge of disapproval, and Charles could immediately see the story she’d built up - that of an old woman, immeasurably wealthy but also very lonely; and her son, her last living blood relative, callously enjoying his youth and freedom while his mother wasted away.

Charles didn’t care to set the record straight. All that mattered was that they could stay. He pushed his way into Patrice’s mind, smoothing over any questions she had so that it would seem utterly normal that her employer’s son, along with ten teenagers and three other adults, would show up at the mansion in the dead of night. “We’ll take the bedrooms in the west wing,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to disturb you.”

“Yes, of course.”

He could feel the unasked questions floating in the air behind him as he bid Patrice a good night and led the way to the mansion’s west wing, and the various unused guest rooms on the third floor. But in the midst of all the confusion, a thread of something that was undoubtedly compassion wove its way into his head. The mind touching his felt cold and glittery and powder-soft, like snow.

 _I’m sorry,_ Emma’s voice whispered.

The discovery that Emma Frost was a telepath was nothing in the face of the overwhelming sympathy she was sending his way, the sort that only came from shared experiences.

_Thank you._

“Take your pick of the bedrooms,” he said out loud, waving a hand to indicate the doors. “Some of them might be locked, but I don’t think they should pose a problem for you, Erik.”

“Where are you going?” Raven asked, as he turned to leave.

Charles threw a grim smile at her over his shoulder. “To see my mother.”

 

*

 

“Who would’ve guessed Charles’ family was as fucked up as we are?” Sean murmured.

At Erik’s insistence, they’d all squeezed themselves into one bedroom, although considering how massive it was, the word ‘squeezed’ was highly inappropriate. The bed was big enough that Peter, Jean, Sean, and Angel could fit in it. There was also a couch, which Emma took, and a loveseat by the window which was just the right size for Raven. Erik had dusted off the white cloths that had covered the furniture and made up makeshift beds on the floor for himself, Christian, and the rest of the boys, before taking his leave, informing everyone that he was going to go look for Charles.

“Shut up, he’ll hear you!” Raven hissed. It didn’t matter that Charles was probably a few floors away (how many floors did this freaking mausoleum have anyway?). She’d already known that he was powerful - but that display on the beach, blocking out Erik’s senses and then knocking all of those men unconscious, was like nothing Raven had ever seen before.

She wasn’t scared, though. She was afraid for her family; for Azazel and Alex and Scott, those brave idiots; for Emma and Christian, dragged unwillingly into this mess. But she wasn’t scared of Charles. It would be like being scared of Erik, and that just wasn’t possible.

“You should tell him that,” said Emma softly.

Raven glanced up. “Pardon me?”

“You should tell Charles that you’re not scared of him. I know he’d appreciate it.”

The full impact of Emma’s words hit Raven like a freight train. _She heard me. She spoke to me, too, back then. I wasn’t imagining things._ “You’re a telepath,” she said accusingly. “When Dad said you were supposed to be watching - and the psionic blockers Charles was talking about - you and Dad were working together!”

“That’s what all those trips abroad were about,” said Hank from across the room, evidently listening in on the conversation. He hadn’t transformed back yet, still covered in blue fur, his teeth sharp and dangerous, and no one missed the way Emma shrank back ever so slightly as he approached them. “You and Dad were hunting down Shaw, weren’t you?”

Emma sighed. “The time for secrets is over, I think.”

Christian, sprawled out on one of the blankets laid out on the floor, looked up at Emma with a wry smile. “You said it, little sister.”

Emma nodded and gestured at everyone, indicating that they could come closer.  “Make yourselves comfortable children, we have a _lot_ to talk about.”

“Even us?” Azazel asked, pointing at himself, Alex, and Scott.

Emma looked up at them, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Still, she nodded. “Of course,” she said, “you’re in this now, as much as we are.”

 _Keep an eye on the Summers boys,_ a voice spoke in Raven’s mind. _I don’t trust them._

Raven glanced up at Emma, but she was determinedly not looking at her. _Emma?_ Raven asked, tentatively.

_The Summers boys, Raven. Watch them. Don’t let them out of your sight._

“When I was younger, I was a teacher in a private school in Switzerland,” Emma began. “I had a sister named Adrienne…”

 

*

 

Sharon Xavier’s bedroom had the peculiar smell of a hospital, antiseptic layered over with cloying floral smells from bouquets sent by well-wishers. The thick curtains were pulled across the windows, such that Charles thought that even in the daytime, the room would be pitch-black.

The nurse had apparently gone to bed, because no one else was in the room. However, Sharon was hooked up to several machines monitoring her pulse and her breathing, and Charles had no doubt that a sophisticated alarm system would alert the nurse should anything be amiss. Even in death, Sharon had to have the best.

She looked nothing like the cool, terrifyingly put-together woman Charles remembered from his childhood. She was much thinner, garbed only in a thin hospital gown. Her skin looked almost translucent, and the shadows under her eyes were so dark they almost looked like bruises. Her hair had once been lustrous, shiny blonde curls; now it was thin and fine, silver strands almost invisible against the pillow.

Charles had hated this woman, had grown up feeling nothing but fear and disgust from her. And now, all he could feel was pity.

She didn’t have long. Charles had felt the certainty in Patrice’s mind. This wasn’t a room for healing; this was a room meant to ensure that Sharon’s last moments were comfortable.

Charles wasn’t angry that his mother hadn’t tried to contact him, hadn’t tried to make amends once she’d found out she was sick. That only ever happened in cheesy Hallmark movies. Real life rarely worked that way, and Charles had long ago accepted that Sharon would never be a mother to him. All he could do was swear to himself that he would do his damnedest to make sure any children he’d be lucky to have would never feel the same way.

There was a light tap at the door. Charles, mind still reeling from the impressive display of his powers from earlier, knew at once that it was Erik. He took one last look at his sleeping mother, sighed, and stepped outside.

Erik looked positively wrecked. Charles could certainly understand why. He’d gone from a dad having fun with his kids and friends on the beach, to a hunted fugitive - all in the space of a single evening. It almost made Charles want to postpone the talk he knew was long overdue, but he was entitled to some answers.

“Come with me,” he said. “I know somewhere we can talk.”

To Charles’ surprise, Brian Xavier’s old study was clean and well-kept. The books were still in their shelves, and the couches, the coffee table, the lamps, and the massive oak desk were all neat and dust-free. The only thing missing was the lingering scent of tobacco in the air, and a chessboard set out on the table.

_“Come, Charlie, I’ll teach you. Every gentleman must know how to play chess.”_

“This was your father’s - ”

“Yes,” said Charles. He turned around, and was suddenly struck by how much Erik seemed to belong here, in this place that held the only happy memories he had of this mansion. He suddenly remembered that kiss, earlier in the kitchen of Emma’s house, and he blushed to the roots of his hair. _Time and place!_ he forcefully reminded himself, and sat down on one of the couches. “Please,” he said, and waved a hand at the various armchairs grouped in front of the desk.

Almost daring Charles to react, Erik sat down on the couch next to him. “Is this okay?” he asked, softly, like Charles would bolt any minute.

He sniffed. “If I haven’t left yet, after all that’s happened, I think you should know by now that I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

Erik smiled slightly, a slow, sad thing that was nothing like the sharklike grins Charles had come to know and love. “I don’t know how I can ever - ”

Charles slashed a hand downwards in a cutting motion, silencing Erik. “I can feel all your self-loathing and recrimination, my friend. There’s no need to vocalize it,” he said dryly. There it was - Erik’s smile. It was small and fleeting, but it was there.

“Do you mind if I ask what happened to…” Erik trailed off and flapped a hand to indicate the mansion in general.

Charles thought of the countless bottles of gin and whiskey collecting in the trash bins, the disapproving looks from the housekeeper, the sour stench of alcohol and unwashed hair that assaulted Charles’ nose every time he poked his head into his mother’s room. “My mother started drinking after Dad died. According to the nurse, the damage to her liver caused cirrhosis, which then developed into liver cancer.”

“That’s horrible.” To his credit, Erik sounded genuinely shocked and upset. It spoke a lot for how he cared for others, Charles thought, that Erik could spare sympathy for someone else even when he and his family were on the run.

“It is what it is. At least, I was saved a messy attempt at reconciliation.”

“Would you have?”

“Would I have what?”

Erik looked hesitant, but he asked anyway. “Would you have reconciled with her?”

Charles fell silent, thinking. “It’s been five years,” he said carefully, “since she threw me out. I don’t know if I would have been able to forgive her, even if she’d made the attempt.” He shrugged. “My mother had a lot of deep-seated prejudices she was never able to get over. It seems terribly gauche not to forgive the sick and dying, but I was a child. And there are things you just don’t do to children.”

“Yes,” said Erik hoarsely, his fist clenching. “There are.”

Carefully, Charles reached out a hand and placed it over Erik’s. “Erik,” he said, gently, “tell me what happened.”

 

* * *

 

 

**_18\. there must have been a moment of truth_ **

“My name back then was Max Eisenhardt,” Erik began. “I was twenty-two. I’d just graduated from university and was in Vienna for work. I hated being away from home, but I liked my job. Shaw Technologies had some of the best anti-discrimination policies in the world. I had such high hopes for the future.”

He could almost see himself back then. Young, naive, with none of the weight that rested now on his shoulders. There were times when he wondered if, given the chance, he’d change anything. If he could somehow go back in time, would he tell his younger self not to take the job dangled in front of him like a carrot?

 _If I had,_ Erik thought, _I never would have met the children, or Charles._

“I was taken six months into working for Shaw Technologies,” said Erik. “I wasn’t shy about using my abilities on the job. It was useful, after all. I suppose that’s how I caught Shaw’s attention.

“I woke up in a cell inside what I later on discovered was an underground facility deep in the _Böhmerwald,_ the Bohemian Forest in Central Europe. It was then that I met Shaw, and he told me what he had planned for me, and others like me.” Erik shuddered. “He wanted living weapons, soldiers to fight in a war he wanted to wage on humans. He talked about mutant oppression, legislation designed to make life difficult for us, discrimination and hatred. He talked about how we were the next step in evolution.” Erik lowered his gaze,  unable to look Charles in the eye. “And I believed him. I let him experiment on me, I let him teach me how to take my powers to new heights.”

“What changed?” Charles asked, with far too much understanding in his voice.

This, Erik knew, was going to be Charles’ undoing. His insistence on believing that everyone could be be better.

And Erik knew he was the worst kind of hypocrite, because he absolutely hated how Charles was so determined to see the good in everyone, and yet if the day ever came when Charles could no longer see the good in Erik, it would absolutely destroy him.

“The children,” said Erik. “The children changed everything.”

He remembered the day Raven and Hank had arrived at the facility. Erik’s cell had been a giant stone pentagonal structure, with a mattress in one corner and thick glass panes enclosing the cell. Two guards had come in, warning Erik to step back as they opened the top hatch. Two children, one blue-scaled and the other blue-furred, were unceremoniously dumped into the hole. Hank had been inconsolable, weeping terribly and calling out for his parents. But even back then, Raven had been stone-cold to the core, desperately aching to be comforted and embraced but hanging back until she’d ascertained that Erik was not a threat.

“Raven and Hank were the first,” he said. “They were both around six years old, I think? We were all kept together in the same cell, so eventually, they learned to trust me. Hank had been kidnapped from his parents, and from what he told me of the attack, I assumed they were both dead. But Raven…” He gritted his teeth, although he knew it was useless to be angry. Those people were well out of Raven’s lives now, and that was that. “Her parents sold her to Shaw.”

Charles’ eyes widened with shock, but he said nothing, silently gesturing at Erik to continue.

“When the others came, we were eventually all given our own cells. It was the first time I saw Raven cry. She’d gotten attached to me and Hank, and didn’t want to be separated from us. A guard had to knock her unconscious.

“Angel was the next to arrive. She’d been snatched from her family as they attempted to cross the border from Mexico. I imagine her parents couldn’t report her missing without risking themselves and other children they might have had.

“Darwin and Sean arrived together. They were the only mutants in the foster home they were living at. They were taken, like Hank, but how much do you want to bet that their foster parents didn’t give a damn that they’d gone missing?”

Erik knew he was being bitter and unfair, but he would live forever with the thought of little Sean matter-of-factly telling Erik not to count on his foster parents calling the police. _“They don’t care about Darwin and me. They’ll be happy that we’re gone.”_

Any person who could make a child feel that way deserved to rot in hell.

“But it was Jean’s arrival,” he continued, “that finally lead to us escaping.”

He thought of Jean, the tiny little girl she’d been back then, unaware of just how powerful she was, ignorant of how deeply she’d been betrayed. “She was brought to the facility by a woman named Adrienne Frost.”

Charles’ mouth dropped open. “But that - that’s Emma’s sister! Isn’t it?”

Erik nodded. “The eldest of the Frost sisters,” he said grimly. “Have you ever wondered why it’s been ten years since Adrienne was last seen in the public eye? Emma is why.”

“She was helping you,” said Charles, comprehension dawning on his face. “That’s what that trip to Vienna was about, wasn’t it? She was helping you hide from Shaw.”

“Not just that,” said Erik hesitantly. Was this it? Was this moment Charles’ capacity for believing in humanity was going to run out?

“Back then, Adrienne and Emma were both teachers. Emma was working at a private school in Switzerland, while Adrienne was here in the States. One of Adrienne’s students was a three-year-old girl named Jean Gray, who showed great telekinetic abilities.

“We don’t know how Adrienne and Shaw came to work together - or if Emma discovered how, she’s never told me. I assume you already know that Emma is a powerful telepath herself?” He waited for Charles to nod, then continued. “Somehow, Emma found out about Adrienne taking Jean. She quit her job to search for Jean, and a year later, she found us.

“By that time, the children and I had grown close. We were already hatching schemes to escape, with the help of a nurse named Nina. She was part of the medical staff Shaw had available at his facility. She took pity on us, brought us extra food and blankets, sat with us in the dark when the guards were asleep. She treated the children’s injuries. She taught us that song, the one I sang to the children back in Montauk.”

Dimly, Erik became aware of Charles’ hands over his, and how warm they were, how soft. It was strange how he could draw so much comfort from a simple touch.

“Then Emma arrived.”

The telepathic touch had frightened Erik like nothing Shaw had done to him. The experiments, the instruments, all of it touched Erik’s skin, but his mind was his own. To feel someone in there was nothing short of horrifying, but Emma had quickly reassured him that she was there to help.

“How did Emma deal with Adrienne?”

Erik shook his head. “She never told me,” he said. “A few months after we escaped, we heard that Adrienne had returned to the Frost family’s ancestral home in West Virginia. She never resurfaced in the public eye again. If I had to make a guess, I’d say that Adrienne’s memory was modified.

“We decided that only I would know of Emma’s involvement,” he continued. “Emma was already very well-known at the time, and she felt she could better help us if no one - including the children - knew how she’d helped us.”

“And…how did she help you?”

“She tracked Jean down to the facility,” said Erik. “With her abilities, it was easy to take control of the guards. And once I was free, well…” Erik shrugged. “I had nearly two years’ worth of anger saved up, and my powers had been painstakingly honed by Shaw himself. It was almost laughably easy to escape.

“We fled to Berlin, where Emma used her contacts to give us new identities. The children kept their first names, but Nina became Magda, and I became Erik Lehnsherr. We spent a few months in Berlin, coming up with a cover story.”

“Emma froze Shaw’s assets and transferred the money to protected accounts that only I could access, then she convinced her brother to hire me. With employment secured, and with backers like the Frosts, migrating to the US was fairly easy. Magda and I went first, along with Raven and Jean, so we could establish ourselves as a German family with two adopted daughters. The rest of the children followed at spaced intervals so we could pretend that Magda and I were adopting them as time went by. By the time we were all together, Magda was pregnant with Peter.

“Life was good, and I thought - I thought we were safe.” Erik snorted. Safe. What a wonderful fantasy. “But then Magda left when we found out Peter was a mutant. And it was also then that Emma and I discovered that Shaw was looking for us.” Erik’s anger had been immense. _Why can’t they just let us be?_ he’d demanded, but at once he had his answer. He and the children were Shaw’s prizes. He wasn’t going to let them go just like that. “That’s when the trips abroad started. Emma and I scoured the world for Shaw and his men under the guise of business trips and personal vacations, until one day we caught up to Shaw in Cuba and I…”  

“You killed him,” Charles finished.

Erik wouldn’t look up at Charles. Couldn’t look up at him. Sweet, gentle Charles, hated and neglected by his mother, lonely and alone for most of his life, but who still found it in him to love and care for others, to still believe in people’s inherent goodness.

The touch of Charles’ hand cupping Erik’s cheek was not a surprise, but the soft lips on his were.

“You keep insisting that you’re some kind of monster,” said Charles gently. “But all I see is a man who would stop at nothing to keep his children safe. That hardly seems evil to me.”

“You know what the road to hell is paved with.”

“You’ve seen hell firsthand. Did _good intentions_ play any part in what Shaw had planned for you and the children?”

Despite his adamant words, Charles seemed unwilling to get into an argument, so he changed the subject. “What was your trip to Vienna for, if Shaw was already dead?”

Erik gratefully took the out Charles offered. “Shaw’s gone, but his network remained. After I dealt with him, Emma remained abroad tracking down his officers and financial backers. She believed she’d finally dismantled the last of Shaw’s underground influence, but while doing so she discovered new players in town.”

“The men on the beach,” Charles murmured.

Erik nodded. “We believe they were sent by Bolivar Trask and William Stryker, arms manufacturers with Trask International.”

“Who want to to continue Shaw’s work,” said Charles.

“Just so.”

Erik couldn’t help but look at Charles. A look of utter pain had shuttered across his face. His lower lip was caught between his teeth, and his eyes were dark with heartache. “I’m so sorry, Erik,” he said. “I’m so sorry that this happened to you.”

“No, Charles. I’m sorry _you_ got roped into this,” said Erik, taking Charles’ hands in his own. “I should have listened to the children, when they said they didn’t need a nanny. I never should have brought anyone else into this secret. You could have been hurt today.”

“So could you, and any of the children,” Charles snapped. “Don’t think that any of this was your fault.” He interlaced his and Erik’s fingers. “I would not trade meeting the kids - meeting you - for anything in the world. Not even my own safety.”

“Oh, Charles, don’t say that - ”

“No. Listen to me. It’s true.” Charles edged closer until he and Erik were almost nose to nose, blue eyes boring relentlessly into green. “My life is infinitely better with you and your family in it. The kids - they’re sweet, kind, brave, loyal. They’re exactly like you. The time we’ve had together was some of the happiest moments of my life, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything.”

Charles leaned forward, a hand reaching up to cup Erik’s cheek. “I’m in love with you, Erik Lehnsherr,” he whispered. “I don’t know how, or why, and I’ve been trying to deny it all this time. But anything could have happened today, and I would hate myself forever if I didn’t at least tell you.”

Erik swallowed. _This is what I was afraid of._ “Charles - ”

Charles shook his head. “Don’t say anything,” he said. “Don’t tell me you love me, or that you don’t, just yet. You should think this through. I just…” He shrugged. “I needed you to know.”

The soft brush of Charles’ lips against Erik’s took him by surprise, but not so much that he couldn’t respond. He kissed back, tangling the fingers of one hand into Charles’ hair, cupping the back of his neck with the other. This was a different kiss from the one they’d shared earlier, much gentler, more careful, as though Charles was afraid Erik would pull away.

Fat chance of _that_ happening.

But air _was_ an issue, and neither Charles nor Erik happened to be the sort of mutant who could go for long without it. Hesitantly, they broke apart, a slight smile curling Charles’ lips. “We should go see how the kids are doing,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” Erik managed to say without stammering. “We should.”

“You should know though. They’ve been planning this since we left the city.” Smiling slightly, Charles pointed first to himself, then to Erik.

Unable to help himself, Erik let out a sharp laugh. “Yes, they have,” he said, shaking his head. “They’ll be pleased to know they succeeded.”

Suddenly uncharacteristically shy, Charles looked away. “So you and Emma aren’t…?”

“I would be the worst kind of asshole if I kissed you - twice now - while being involved with someone else, wouldn’t I?” Erik responded dryly. “It was a ruse Emma needed to sell when we returned from Vienna, just in case Trask and Stryker were watching.” He spread his hands wide. “Clearly rendered unnecessary.”

“Right. Um. I was curious,” Charles stammered, blushing a brilliant red.

Erik rolled his eyes. “Of course you were.”

By the time Erik and Charles returned to the bedroom they’d commandeered, the children had all gone to sleep. Christian, too, was down for the count. Only Emma was left awake, seated on the edge of the couch and sipping at a mug of coffee.

“I hope you don’t mind, Charles,” she said, raising the mug. “I went ahead and helped myself.”

“Of course, Emma.”

“Do you mind?” she asked, gesturing at herself and Erik. “I need to have a word with our fearless leader.”

Charles nodded. “Sure. I’ll keep watch.”

Emma stood and headed out the door into the hallway. Erik followed, his mind whirling with tactics and plans. Where could they go from here? They couldn’t stay at Charles’ mother’s house forever. But going back to the city wasn’t, as yet, an option. Perhaps Emma had a safehouse that hadn’t yet been touched by Stryker and Trask?

“About damn time,” Emma said, as Erik closed the door behind him.

That wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting. “Sorry?”

“You and Charles.” Emma waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Not the most opportune of times, but at least you’ve finally done _something_. I could’ve cut all the sexual tension between you two with a knife!”

“Emma…”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Oh, all right, all right. You’re no fun,” she sniffed. “I have a contact with the CIA who can get us to a safer location. They can deal with keeping Charles, Christian, and the kids safe. But you and I - ” And here, her eyes hardened like the diamond her skin could transform into. “ - we’re going after Stryker and Trask.”

“No more running and hiding,” said Erik, nodding. They would deal with this threat, then go home, and he could spend the rest of his life with Charles and his children, safe and at peace.

“That’s so cute, I may just vomit,” said Emma slyly.

“Shut up, Emma - ”

The sensation of ice and cold suddenly flooded Erik’s mind, sharp and jagged like needles. Erik had never been on the receiving end of one of Emma’s psychic attacks, but he had seen her use her powers on other hapless victims. “Emma!” he gasped out, gripping his head as he fell to his knees. The pain was intense, searing into his mind like ice-cold fire, burning away everything in its path. “Emma, _what are you doing -_ ”

She looked down at him, her face blank and expressionless. “Good night, Erik,” she murmured.

The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the white rings that had appeared in the bright blue of her irises, and the last thing he thought of was Charles.

 

*

 

“Erik.” A hand touched his shoulder, shaking him into consciousness. “Erik. Wake up.”

The voice was strangely familiar, and yet, utterly out of place. Erik did the mental equivalent of a frown. He’d heard that voice before, many, many times. Always with a desk between him and the speaker, though.

Erik shot up into a sitting position, and instantly regretted it. His whole head throbbed like Sean had screamed straight into his ears. “What’s going on?” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

“We have a bit of a problem,” the familiar voice from earlier spoke up. Erik’s eyes flew open. _It can’t be. I must be dreaming._

Moira MacTaggert knelt at his side, dressed in a gray flight suit, her long brown hair pulled off her face in a high ponytail. A utility belt cinched her waist, carrying a pair of handguns in holsters, extra ammunition, and - were those _grenades?_

“Moira?” Erik yelped. Well - no, it was more of a - all right, he had yelped, but considering the circumstances, he felt he was entitled. “What are you doing here?”

Moira offered him a hand and helped him up. “Emma told you she had a CIA contact that would help you get the kids to safety, right?” she said. “Here I am.”

“I’m sorry, I thought I just heard you say that you’re CIA.”

“Guilty.” Moira smiled thinly. “Come on. The kids are in the kitchen with Logan. Lucky for us that nurse is a deep sleeper. Otherwise, without Charles to whammy her mind into place, we’d have had to answer a lot of uncomfortable questions.”

“What do you mean ‘without Charles’?” Erik demanded. “Where is he? And the kids? Who’s Logan?” What the fuck was going on?

“Erik - ”

“Emma!” he suddenly cried out. “Stryker or Trask - they did something to her, she - ”

“Erik, I know!” Moira shouted. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him once, hard - no easy feat for a woman that only came up to Erik’s chin. “We’ve been keeping tabs on your family for years.”

_Years._

Unbidden, the memory of Moira approaching him in that playground, all those years ago, rose in his mind. _“I just wanted to say, if you needed any help with them, you can give me a call.”_

It was, Erik thought, a mark of how tired he was, and how badly he just wanted this all to be over, that Moira’s revelation - which, once upon a time, would have sent him through the roof - barely rated a four on the weirdness scale.

“We’ll talk about that later,” he said, mentally tabling that discussion - because, really, Moira MacTaggert, _a CIA agent?_ There was only so much suspension of disbelief to go around. “What happened?”

Moira paused, and sighed. “You have to promise me something.”

Erik didn’t like where this was going. “Yeah, sure.”

“You have to promise me you won’t lose it. You need to keep your cool right now, for Emma and Charles and your kids. Can you promise me that?”

“Okay.”

Moira took a deep breath. “Something’s happened to Emma,” she began. “I have my suspicions, and I can explain them better later. But right now, what you need to know is this. Stryker and Trask have control of her. She managed to fight it off long enough to get a message to me, once she realized what was happening. But by the time Logan and I got here, she was already gone.”

She paused, fear in her eyes and voice.

“And she took Charles, Raven, Jean, Alex, and Scott with her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE DON'T KILL ME FOR THE CLIFFHANGER. *hides*


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look to chapter notes at the end for the lengthy apology coming your way. I know you're excited to start reading ;)

**_19\. climb every mountain_ **

The rest of the children, thank heaven, were safe.

“Dad!” Angel cried out in relief. She broke free of the huddle of dejected teenagers cowering in the kitchen and threw herself into her father’s arms. “Dad, you’re okay!”

Erik folded her into his embrace, curling around her and closing his eyes. “ _Engelchen,_ ” he whispered into her hair, before straightening and holding her at arm’s length. “Is everyone okay?”

The rest of the children followed Angel, surrounding Erik and clamoring for his attention. “Charles is gone!” said Peter, his lower lip trembling with the effort of fighting back tears. “And Raven and Jean!”

“Scott and Alex too,” said Hank gravely. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. Not since their time with Shaw had Erik seen Hank - or any of the children, for that matter - look so afraid. “It was Emma. She did something to us, put us to sleep or something.”

“I knew there was something wrong with her,” Angel hissed, Darwin nodding fervently in agreement.

“She’s evil, Dad! She’s a double agent!” Sean clamored, shooting a glare at Christian, who was slumped over the kitchen table, morosely nursing a cup of tea.

A gruff voice spoke up. “Hey, MacTaggert, I thought you were gonna bring Lehnsherr up to speed.”

Logan Howlett, headmaster of Lewisham Academy, stood by the refrigerator, loosely gripping a cold bottle of beer. He was a big, burly man with ridiculous sideburns, dressed in a black flight suit and steel-toed boots. Unlike Moira, however, he wasn’t visibly armed. He didn’t need it, Erik realized, as three long razor-sharp metal claws emerged from between his knuckles, which he used to pop the cap off the beer he was holding.

Disturbingly enough, Erik saw the way Christian’s eyes appreciatively swept over the headmaster’s physique. Still, it, at least, was proof that Christian was relatively okay, if he could still ogle attractive men.

“ _Logan Howlett_ is a CIA agent?” Erik asked, turning to Moira with disbelief.

Moira spread her hands wide. “I’m sorry, Erik,” she said. “Strictly need-to-know. And until today, you didn’t need to know.”

“Okay.” Erik folded his arms and employed his most impressive scowl. “So fill me in.”

“We should take the kids - and, er - ” She gestured vaguely at Christian, who was _still_ in his Bermuda shorts and aloha t-shirt.

“Christian Frost, madame, at your service,” he said, sweeping forward, picking up Moira’s hand, and delicately pressing a kiss to it. The effect was rather ruined by his black eye, and the fact that he looked close to collapsing.

“Right,” said Moira, looking like she was womanfully resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “We should take the kids and Christian somewhere safe, first. This location is compromised.”

“Anybody else have a spare mansion they have lying around?” Darwin quipped.

“Lewisham doubles as a CIA safehouse for mutant agents,” said Logan. “One of you is a teleporter, yeah?” Unerringly, Logan’s gaze landed on Azazel, who met it head on. “How accurate are you?”

“If I’ve never seen the place, even with an address, the best I can do is the gates or the front door. Coming from the outside, I can’t teleport into specific rooms,” said Azazel. His voice was steady, belying the terror in his eyes. “But that’s a moot point, because I’m coming with you.”

“ _No, you’re not._ ” Erik strode forward and gripped Azazel’s shoulders, forcing the teenaged boy to look him straight in the eye. “I need you to take care of my kids, Azazel. _Raven_ needs you to take care of her siblings. Hank and Raven have always backed each other up, but Raven’s not here now. Do you understand?”

“But – ”

“I’m going to bring them back.” Erik looked up at the rest of the kids. “I’m going to bring them _all_ back. Emma, Raven, Jean, and Charles. Even Alex and Scott. But I need to know you and Hank can keep everyone else safe. Can I count on you for that?”

Azazel pressed his lips together and gave one short nod. “Yes, sir.”

Erik clapped Azazel on the shoulder. “Good man.” He turned to Logan. “So, Howlett, where are they headed?”

Logan pulled out a small tablet from a pouch on his utility belt. “There’s Lewisham,” he said, tapping the screen a few times. A topographical map of Massachusetts appeared, with a location was marked out with a red circle. “Campus security will be expecting you. I want everyone to _stay put_ until Lehnsherr, MacTaggert, or I come for you. You’re to go _nowhere else_ , with _no one else._ Are we clear?”

Everyone nodded.

“Hold hands, everyone,” Azazel murmured. He took Hank’s hand in his left, and Darwin’s in his right. The rest of the kids and Christian held onto each other, fingers clenching tight.

“I’ll see you soon,” Erik promised.

“We love you, Dad,” Angel called out.

Erik tried very hard not to wonder if he would ever see his kids again, if he was walking into certain death. “I love you, too.”

A puff of red smoke enveloped them, and the smell of sulphur filled the air. When the smoke cleared, they were gone.

A hand gently clasped Erik’s shoulder. He turned around to face Moira. Her brown eyes were soft with compassion. “Let’s go,” she said. “The jet’s outside.”

“The _what?_ ”

*

Charles awoke to a headache that felt like fifty construction workers were drilling holes in his temples. He was forcibly reminded of some of his worst hangovers in college – the kind that were often accompanied by bad memories and a mountain of regret.

It took him a while to remember.

The mental assault had taken him by surprise and had, very effectively, knocked him out. All he remembered was the sudden sensation of freezing cold invading his mind, and Emma’s voice, screaming and crying helplessly, before everything went black.

He staggered to his feet, pressing his fingers against his temples. “Where am I?” he muttered to himself, looking around.

He was in a cell of some sort – a pentagonal structure with bars over the top, which itself was covered with a layer of thick glass. There were speakers mounted on the walls, and a drain in the very center of the cell.

“Charles!”

Raven and Jean were huddled together in the corner, the latter still unconscious and slumped across Raven’s lap. Raven was no longer in her disguise. Charles hurried to their side, pitching himself to his knees and throwing his arms around both girls. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he said, tucking a strand of Raven’s hair behind her ear.

“Ohhhhh,” Jean moaned, her eyelids fluttering open. She dragged herself into a seated position, leaning heavily on Raven. “What happened?” she asked, blinking rapidly in the harsh fluorescent light.

Before Charles could answer, the speakers suddenly crackled to life. “Ah,” a voice said, “you’re awake. Good.”

“Who are you?” Charles demanded, staring at the speaker. “Where have you taken us?”

“Up here, Mr. Xavier.”

Charles, Raven, and Jean looked up. There was evidently a viewing platform the circled the mouth of their cell, because Charles could see several people peering inside – including, he was shocked to note, Emma, Alex, and Scott. Aside from armed men in uniform, they were accompanied by two men in impeccable suits. One was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick beard. The other was a dwarf with short, shaggy brown hair, a pair of bifocals perched on the end of his nose.

“Hello, Mr. Xavier,” said the former. “My name is William Stryker. This is my associate, Dr. Bolivar Trask.”

“Under the circumstances,” said Charles testily, “I think we can dispense with the niceties. What do you want from us?”

“Well, first, I need to get rid of our extra baggage,” said Stryker amiably. “The men around you are equipped with psionic blockers, so neither you nor Miss Jean will be able to reach them. Dr. Trask and I would greatly prefer not to kill you, but we will if it proves necessary. Now, step against the wall.”

The armed men moved into position, surrounding the mouth of the cell and aiming their guns at Charles and the girls. “Get behind me,” he said quietly, spreading his arms and shielding as much of Raven and Jean as he could.

“Open the cell,” Stryker ordered. There was a grinding noise, and the glass panels slowly began to part. Stryker looked down at Charles and the girls, then turned to Emma and shoved her in. She didn’t react, falling wordlessly to the ground in a crumpled heap.

“Emma!” Charles cried, taking a step forward.

“Back against the wall, Xavier!” Stryker snarled. The men lifted their weapons, ready to fire on Stryker’s orders.

Charles obeyed.

“Close the cell.”

The glass panels began moving inwards, and snapped shut with a final-sounding thud.

Charles rushed forward, hauling Emma into his lap. Her eyes were closed, and there was a sort of small, mottled ring-like bruise on the side of her throat. “What did you do to her?” said Charles, horrified. “Emma,” he whispered, shaking her lightly. “Emma, wake up.”

“Oh, don’t worry, she’ll awaken in a few minutes or so,” said Stryker dismissively. “It’s been a few hours since her last dose.”

“Dose of _what?_ ”

“Only one of the new playthings Dr. Trask has created for me,” said Stryker, smiling ominously. “It’s amazing what one can do with science nowadays, isn’t it?”

“Some form of mind control?” said Charles, eyes narrowing. It would explain the telepathic attack on him earlier, and Emma’s voice, screaming in his mind. He wouldn’t have expected Emma, so blindsiding him would have been easy. How horrible for her, he realized, to be trapped in her own head like that.

“A simplistic term, but sufficient for our purposes,” said Trask, speaking up for the first time. “A serum I’ve developed, which allows marginal control over the synapses of persons who possess the X-gene, such as your charming friend there.”

“And how long has it been since Alex and Scott were dosed?” said Charles accusingly. “You’re despicable. You would make children fight for you?”

Stryker let out a deep, booming laugh. “I don’t need any of Dr. Trask’s fancy tricks for Alex and Scott to obey me,” he said. Scott’s face crumpled, and Alex looked away. Neither of the Summers brothers seemed able to look at Charles. “Mr. Xavier,” Stryker drawled, “have I ever introduced you to my sons?”

*

“ _Hank_ designed this?”

Moira hid a smile at the disbelief in Erik’s tone of voice. “Why do you sound so surprised, Erik? Hank’s a brilliant kid.”

“I think _my son_ would have told me if he was put under government contract to design a _plane for the CIA_.”

Logan took his cigar out of his mouth and flicked the ash into a tray balanced on the console. “He wasn’t under government contract,” he said gruffly. “This was Hank’s submission to an interstate high school tech design contest. It caught my eye and I…passed it along to my superiors, if you will.”

Erik had never truly appreciated the phrase ‘pick your battles’ until he’d met Logan. “I hope you at least had the decency to pay him,” he muttered.

“A little extra in the prize money,” said Logan flippantly.

Erik grimaced. He unbuckled his seatbelt and left the cockpit, striding down the length of the jet and disappearing from sight.

Logan took a long drag from his cigar. “He seems bothered.”

Moira smacked Logan on the shoulder. “Cut him some slack,” she snapped, unbuckling her own seatbelt. “Take the controls for a bit. I’m gonna go talk to him.”

She followed Erik to the tail of the plane, where he stood with his arms folded across his chest, staring broodingly out one of the windows. There hadn’t been a spare flight suit for Erik to wear, so he was still in the jeans and thin henley he’d been wearing on the beach. Logan had also loaned him a black leather jacket. It was, Moira reflected, a nice change from the expensive designer threads he was usually clothed in when he stormed into her office, demanding a new nanny.

“Tell me everything,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. His voice was cool, steady. He sounded like Moira’s superiors demanding a progress report. _You have to admire his composure,_ she thought.

“Logan and I were assigned to your case five years ago,” she said softly. “Our team in the CIA is called Division X. It’s composed almost entirely of mutants, with only a few human agents scattered here and there. The United States government created us in response to rumors of mutant experimentation happening in Europe.”

“Shaw,” said Erik.

“Yes. But by the time the bureaucracy and red tape was over and done with, you and the kids had escaped and gone underground. Eventually, Logan and I made contact with Emma Frost. She assured us that you were in the U.S. and out of harm’s way, and we decided to let you be. I established the agency merely to keep an eye on you, but our director decided we wouldn’t meddle.”

“Emma.” Erik turned to face Moira. “What happened to her?”

“A serum was administered to her, a weapon manufactured by Dr. Trask and Stryker using spinal fluid harvested from Stryker’s son.”

Erik recoiled. “ _Spinal fluid?_ ”

“I’m sure Emma filled you in on Stryker’s history?”

“Yes, yes, the son who they said Stryker forced to undergo experimental genetic therapy. Didn’t he die?”

“Yes, he did,” said Moira grimly. “The boy was a telepath. Stryker engineered a serum using his son’s brain matter that could somehow control any person with the X-gene. His son died before Stryker could mass-produce the serum. But when Trask took him on, he managed to create a synthetic version that, unfortunately, works just as well as the organic serum.”

“Who gave Emma the serum?”

Moira hesitated, but it seemed Erik sensed her doubt. “Tell me, Moira.”

“We’ve recently received intel,” she said quietly, “that Alex and Scott Summers were working with Stryker.” She quickly held her hands up, hoping to forestall Erik’s temper. An angry mutant whose powers involved magnetic fields was not something you wanted in an airplane thirty thousand feet in the air. “You should know, it isn’t their fault.”

Erik rolled his eyes. “Of course it isn’t,” he said. “They’re _teenagers._ I highly doubt they’re working with a dangerous anti-mutant extremist to improve their health.”

Moira blinked. That was unexpected. “That...is surprisingly astute of you.”

“If the circumstances were less dire, I’d be a little more insulted,” said Erik dryly.

“Oh, Erik, don’t give me that,” Moira sniffed. “You and I both know that once upon a time you wouldn’t have made that distinction. Not when it comes to your kids’ safety.” Her eyes softened. “Charles has been a good influence on you.”

Erik harrumphed and looked away, but there was no denying the slight blush creeping up the back of his neck. “Tell me what happened,” he said, in a transparent attempt to change the subject.

“Alex and Scott were part of the foster care system when Stryker found them,” said Moira. _More mutant children that slipped through the cracks,_ she thought, torn between helplessness and anger. “Adoption procedures for mutant children were a lot less stringent than they are now. Nowadays, there’s all sorts of safeguards to ensure that mutant children - especially those with particularly destructive abilities - don’t fall into the hands of human purists or extremists. Back then, such regulations didn’t exist. Our thinking is, Stryker took the Summers boys after his own son died.”

“To weaponize them,” Erik snarled. “To turn _children_ into his soldiers.”

“Precisely.” Moira sighed. “And that, I’m afraid, is what we think Stryker and Trask have planned for Raven, Jean, and Charles.” She had to admit, Stryker’s choice in which of Erik’s children to take was brilliant. Jean and Charles were two of the most powerful psychics of the century, and Raven’s unparalleled shapeshifting abilities could hold the key to unlocking the secrets of mutant genetics.

It was everything Erik had ever feared. His children once more in the hands of a madman who wanted their powers, wanted them to be good little soldiers who did as they were told. It was the horrible reality that Alex and Scott Summers had faced, and Erik would be damned if that happened here and now.

“It won’t come to that,” Erik vowed, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “I won’t let them hurt my family. Never again.”

 

* * *

 

**_20\. search high and low_ **

Emma awoke with a splitting headache and murderous rage simmering inside her. Not for the Summers boys, those poor, misguided fools who had had no choice. No, she saved her anger for those who mattered. William Stryker and Bolivar Trask would pay.

“Emma?” she could hear Charles calling out. “Emma, are you all right?”

“I’m awake,” she muttered out loud, her eyes fluttering open. “Where’re Stryker and Trask?”

“Gone. They took Alex and Scott with them.” Charles helped Emma sit up and lean against the wall. “Did you know that they were - ”

“Stryker’s sons? No.” Emma shook her head. “They must have had psionic blockers with them, because I couldn’t hear anything, and I don’t actively shield like you do. I started to suspect them when we were attacked on the beach. My intel told me that Stryker was sending two mutant agents after Erik, and all of a sudden, Alex and Scott Summers show up? You know what they say about coincidences.”

Charles nodded. “They take an awful lot of planning,” he said softly.

“But before I could do anything about it, Alex got me, back at the mansion. I managed to fire off a message to my contact at the CIA, but went under soon after.”

“I don’t believe it!” Jean announced. Emma glanced up to find her and Raven seated next to Charles, both of them looking shell-shocked, but otherwise unharmed. “Alex and Scott wouldn’t work for someone like - like - ” She stuttered to a stop, unable to say Shaw’s name.

Emma sighed. She would die before admitting to any weakness, but she had a soft spot for Erik’s youngest daughter. Like Jean, Emma had discovered she was a powerful telepath at a young age, and the world had never been the same again. But unlike Jean, Emma had not been saved. She had not had a father like Erik, who stumbled over things like affection and tenderness, but undoubtedly loved his children.

“I misused the word ‘sons’,” she admitted, mulling over the memories she’d snatched from Alex Summers’ mind, in the scant milliseconds she had before he went at her with a syringe. “Alex and Scott were taken by Stryker, at a very young age, and he…well.” She looked at Jean. “Not every mutant orphan in the world gets a dad like yours.”

Jean’s indignation instantly subsided. She leaned back against Raven, who wrapped an arm around the younger girl’s shoulders. “That man, from earlier,” she said hesitantly. “He hurt Alex and Scott?”

“I think what Emma’s trying to say,” said Charles carefully, “is that, whatever Alex and Scott may have done to us today may not have been entirely of their own volition, and we need to understand that.”

Jean nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she said. “I think I get it.”

“So.” Raven turned to Emma, her yellow eyes narrowed with determination. “What are they planning for us? Did you get anything?”

Emma shook her head. “Not much,” she said. At that moment, she suddenly realized just how very much Erik’s daughter Raven was. She’d been knocked out, kidnapped, and had no idea what the bad guys wanted with her. And yet she was calm, logical, eager to know what was what. She was afraid, yes, but Emma could feel her mind working to suppress the fear. “You can bet whatever Stryker and Trask have planned, it’s big. Stryker’s dangerously anti-mutant, and Trask has the necessary scientific know-how to back that up. They’ve been planning this - whatever _this_ is - for quite some time now.”

“Dad will come for us,” said Jean, with the easy confidence of a child who believed in her father. “He promised he always would.”

Charles smiled at her and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Of course, Jean. I know he will.”

“Dad’s gonna kill everybody,” said Raven darkly. Emma suppressed a laugh. That was probably true.

“Never let it be said that I don’t trust Erik Lehnsherr with my life,” she said, getting to her feet, “but I think we should probably make things easier for him by trying to escape, hm?”

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but Emma’s right,” said Raven. “I’m not going to sit around waiting for those assholes to get out their dissecting kits.”

Emma nodded approvingly. “Good girl,” she said.

Charles looked torn between being unbearably proud and deathly afraid. Finally, his expression settled into resigned determination. “How are we going to do this?” he asked Emma.

“When I helped Erik escape the first time, Shaw was ill-prepared to deal with telepathy, so it was easy to take over the guards’ minds,” she said. “Trask and Stryker have a little more foresight. Their guards have psionic blockers, and this cell is equipped with the same. So we could use our telepathy on each other,” - she pointed at herself, Charles, and Jean - “but no one outside could hear us.”

“So how are we going to get out of here?” Charles asked, gesturing at the cell around him.

“I have a plan,” said Emma. “It’s not a good plan, but it’s a plan.”

“It’s better than nothing.”

 

*

 

“This is wrong,” said Scott accusingly, “and you know it.”

Alex Summers ignored his younger brother and stared out the window at the vast frozen landscape. It was practically a world away from the warm, golden beach where he’d last stood with Hank.

Thinking of Hank was like a punch to the gut, sudden, raw, and visceral. He - _they_ \- hadn’t known any part of Stryker’s plan. (It had been almost ten years since the man had adopted him and Scott, and in all that time, Alex had never been able to think of William Stryker as a father.) All he’d been told was that they needed to befriend the Lehnsherr children, and all would reveal itself in time.

Stryker had time and again proven to them that he was the only one who had ever given a damn about them. He had taken them from loneliness and destitution and had given them a home. Alex figured that meant he owed Stryker his loyalty.

But Hank and his siblings had shown him what a family could really be like. Erik Lehnsherr was a gruff and emotionally-stunted man, but there was no denying how deeply he loved his children. Alex hadn’t thought that anyone was capable of caring that much for a motley bunch of mutants who weren’t even their own biological kids, but Erik Lehnsherr had proved him wrong.

Most of all, being with Hank had ignited in Alex a desire for normalcy, for a life beyond being William Stryker’s good little foot soldier. He wanted a life like the Lehnsherrs had. He wanted a future, where he could worry about which college to go to, like Hank and Raven. He wanted to see Scott do well in school and fall in love, maybe with little Jean Lehnsherr, who couldn’t take her eyes off him at Raven’s birthday party.

“Alex,” said Scott plaintively, “we can’t do this.”

Alex turned away from the window. The room they’d been given was large - one of the officers’ quarters, perhaps, back when this was an active military base - so he’d insisted that he and Scott share. Like hell he was going to take his eyes off his little brother in this godforsaken place. “I know,” he said, through gritted teeth. “I know, okay, Scott? I know.”

“We have to do something.”

“And what exactly do you suggest?”

Scott fell silent and looked down, lower lip trembling. Alex hadn’t seen his younger brother so upset since he was a toddler, and William Stryker’s affection and approval still mattered. Back then, being adopted was a dream come true, and they’d dared to hope that their new father would be a kind, loving man who would care for them, shield them from all the accusations and harsh words the world threw at them. Words like ‘freak’, ‘destructive’, and ‘dangerous’.

It hurt more than anything to hear Stryker use those very same words - but unlike their childhood bullies, the man wanted Alex and Scott _because_ they were destructive and dangerous. Back then, that had been good enough for Alex. Stryker was no parent, certainly, but he put a roof over their heads and didn’t beat them, which was more than what Alex could say for some of the foster parents they’d stayed with.

He thought of Hank again. Lovely, sweet-natured Hank who, against all odds, had somehow fallen in love with him. Alex was not the type of person someone like Hank fell in love with. Guys like Hank fell in love with people who had their shit together, who would be off to college in the fall with a similarly impressive GPA, who was friendly, polite with adults, and responsible.

Everything Alex wasn’t.

 _But you could become like that,_ something in Alex’s brain whispered. It sounded an awful lot like the Lehnsherr nanny, so much so that Alex quickly checked the psionic blocker he wore on his wrist. The thin black metal band, hidden by a watch, was still there.

Thinking of Charles made Alex remember the shocked looks on Raven and Jean’s faces. Hank’s sisters. Those were Hank’s sisters in there, terrified, in danger.

Alex couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.  

_You could become someone worthy of Hank._

_Someone worthy of having a family. A proper life._

_Someone Scott can look up to._

Alex turned to face his brother. “We’ll be proving all of them right,” said Scott quietly. “Everyone who said we were dangerous. We’ll be as bad as everyone thinks we are.”

 _I guess that’s that._ Alex smirked. “Come on, little brother,” he said, holding out a hand. “We’ve got some Lehnsherrs to bust free.”

 

*

 

“I think I hear someone coming,” said Jean urgently.

“All right.” Emma nodded at Raven. “You know what to do.”

Raven screwed her face up in determination, and melted seamlessly into the form of Bolivar Trask. She coughed, cleared her throat, and spoke in his low, chilling voice. “How’s this?”

Charles gave her a thumbs up. “Perfect,” he said. “Come on.” He gestured towards Raven. “We have to make this convincing.”

Raven hurried into Charles’ arms, trying her best to look terrified. Charles encircled one arm around her shoulders, and the other went around her neck in an approximation of a chokehold. Raven sighed deeply - clearly, Charles had never been in any kind of situation where a chokehold was necessary - but remained silent.

“Who’s up there?” Charles called out, trying (and failing, Raven noted with a sigh) to sound menacing.

“Help!” Raven called out in Trask’s voice. “Help me!”

Emma looked like she was visibly restraining herself from massaging her temples. “You! Up there!” she shouted, sounding much more commanding and impressive than Charles. “We have Dr. Trask. Open the cell and throw down your weapons.”

To everyone’s shock, the face that appeared in the glass windows was not that of a guard, but of a beaming Alex Summers. “Hello,” he said, his voice crackling through the speakers.

Raven bared her teeth in a hiss and, unable to help herself in her anger, transformed back. “You low-down, lying, piece of - ”

“Hey, hey - watch your language,” said Alex teasingly. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Raven. We’re here to help.”

“And why should we trust you?” Raven snapped.

Alex spread his hands wide. “Because we’re your best chance at getting out of here alive.” The corners of his mouth tugged down. “And also, Scotty and I want to make a deal.”

“If you think, for one second, that I’m gonna - ”

Emma gently pushed Raven aside. “What kind of deal?”

“We’ll help you get out of here,” said Alex, “but we want to come with you.”

“What do you mean?” Emma asked.

“We want out of this shit show,” Alex replied. “We can talk more about the details later, but I want you to promise us safe passage back to New York. We had a good life there, and we’d like it back.”

“For that to happen,” said Emma, “we need Stryker and Trask out of the picture. Do you understand?”

Alex’s eyes hardened. “Nothing would make me happier.”

Emma and Charles exchanged glances. The latter tipped his chin up, discreetly signalling a yes. _He’s right,_ Charles thought at Emma. _We have no idea where we are, and how to get back home. We need their help._

 _All right,_ Emma replied, _but you’re doing all the explaining to Erik._ Aloud, she said, “You’ve got yourself a deal, kid.”

Alex grinned. “Great,” he said. “You might wanna step away from the door though. Scott’s aim is better than mine, but not by much.”

Charles, Jean, Raven, and Emma quickly scrambled away from the cell door. There was the telltale sound of a muted beeping, and familiar red laser blasts blew the door out with impressive force. As the dust cleared, Scott Summers stepped into the cell, his sunglasses back in place. “Everyone okay?” he asked.

“As okay as we’ll ever be,” said Charles, straightening up from where he’d shielded Jean and Raven.

“Was that really necessary?” Raven snarked. “Don’t you have a key or something?”

“Biometrically encoded security system, smartypants,” Alex sniped back.

“Children, please,” said Charles in a pained tone of voice. “Now really isn’t the time.”

Instantly, both Raven and Alex subsided. “Sorry, Charles,” they chorused.

“Now, boys,” said Emma, suppressing her laughter, “how are we getting out of here?”

Scott smiled nervously. “Anybody know how to fly a helicopter?”

 

* * *

 

**_21\. follow every byway_ **

“Engaging cloaking device,” said Logan gruffly, as the plane landed in a snow-filled clearing.

Erik glanced out the window. “We’re not in Austria,” he observed.

Moira shook her head. “Trask didn’t headquarter in Shaw’s old facility,” he said. “With Stryker on board, he got access to - ” She glanced nervously at Logan, who seemed not to hear her. “ - to something better,” she finished. “We’re in the Canadian Rockies. There’s a base there called Alkali Lake. On paper, it’s a defunct military complex. Trask had enough money that certain people just, well, looked away.”

“It’s always that way, isn’t it,” said Erik grimly. “Well, Moira, what’s the plan?”

Moira produced a tablet similar to the one Logan had given Azazel. A blueprint appeared on the screen. “This is the base,” she said. “It’s located inside of a dam, which is surrounded by Alkali Lake.” She pointed out the structures as she mentioned them. “We’ve only recently tracked them to this facility, so we have no intel on the inside. But Logan…” She trailed off and glanced at him, biting her lower lip with worry.

Logan snorted and got up from the pilot’s seat. “Don’t blow a gasket, MacTaggart, I’m not about to have an emotional breakdown.” He strode over to Moira and Erik, sparing a disdainful glance for the blueprints. “I was one of Stryker’s experiments,” he said, unflinchingly meeting Erik’s eyes. “These?” He allowed the claws on his right hand to protrude from his knuckles. “Used to be bone.” He retracted the claws. “Adamantium. The whole skeletal frame.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. “Quite.” He wondered if it would be impolite to mention that, thanks to that metallic skeleton, he could very well have Logan Howlett at his beck and call if so wished.

“I remember the way in,” Logan continued. “And the way out. Unfortunately - ” He turned to smirk at Moira. “My partner here doesn’t trust me.”

“To do what?”

Moira scowled. “I don’t trust him not to abandon the mission altogether and go after Stryker instead,” she snapped.

Erik looked at Logan with renewed interest. He understood wanting revenge, but right now, their priority was his children, Charles, and Emma. “You know what I can do?” he said to Logan in a level, cool tone. Logan offered no reply but a raised eyebrow. “Then you should know,” Erik continued, “that I can stop you, anytime I wish.”

“I don’t respond well to threats, bub.”

“I was hardly threatening you,” Erik replied casually. “Merely reminding you that my children are with the man that did that to you, and I will stop at nothing to get them back.” He looked Logan unflinchingly in the eye. “Do we understand each other?”

Despite himself, Logan looked grudgingly impressed. “Crystal.”

“Good.” Erik nodded, then turned to Moira. “What’s the plan?” She scowled distrustfully at Logan, but handed him the tablet with the blueprints.

Logan tapped the screen. The map zoomed in on a section of the base, a large structure that reminded Erik painfully of the cell Shaw had first kept him in. “This base has several holding cells like this one,” said Logan, “but this one here was equipped to keep in telepaths.”

“How do you know this?”

“When I was kept here,” said Logan, and Erik had to admire how there was a total lack of inflection in the man’s voice, as though he was speaking of something mildly distasteful that had happened to someone else, “I overheard talk from the guards ‘bout how one of the cells was being outfitted with prototype psionic blockers. Of course, that was a long time ago, so for all I know, all the cells could now have ‘em. But it seems as good a place as any to start.”

“How are we getting in?” Moira asked.

Logan grinned toothily, a terrible gleam in his eye. “Leave that,” he said, “to me.”

 

*

 

Luck was on their side. They only ran into one squad of guards on their way to the hangar, swiftly dispatched by Emma. Her skin glittered and flashed as diamond encased her arms and legs, her body moving in a blur of white as she easily took them all out. When it was over, six unconscious men lay sprawled at her feet.

Raven was more than a little impressed.

“That won’t keep them down for long,” said Emma, flexing her diamond fingers, ignoring the awed looks everyone else was exchanging. “Let’s go.”

The hangar, however, was even more heavily guarded, with each chopper surrounded by men, and several more in what looked to be a control room. Alex and Scott had led them to a maintenance entrance, in a corner of the hangar where machinery and equipment were kept. They were virtually invisible, but any step - in any direction - would definitely bring the heat.

“What now?” Raven asked, eyeing the nearest guard speculatively.

“Alex and I could probably take them all out,” said Scott, fiddling with his sunglasses.

Emma grabbed at Scott’s hand, shaking her head furiously. “No,” she said through gritted teeth. “I have no doubt you destructive little heathens could easily take out these guards, but I don’t trust your aim enough to leave at least _one_ chopper unscathed. We still need to get out of here.”

“Oh,” said Scott sheepishly. “Right.”

Suddenly, an alarm began to sound. In the hangar, a siren came to life, whirring and throwing dim red light across the concrete floor. “They know we’ve escaped,” Charles hissed. “What do we do now?”

“No, listen.” Alex pointed to a speaker in the corner of the room, which was now issuing instructions.

“ _All hands to stations, we have a security breach. I repeat, we have a security breach. All hands to stations. This is not a drill.”_

Charles’ eyes widened. “Erik,” he breathed. Raven hid a giggle at how lovestruck he looked. “It’s Erik. It has to be. He’s here for us!”

“Oh, Charles, please don’t swoon,” said Emma flippantly, although there was no denying the look of relief in her eyes.

The guards began shouldering weapons and streaming out of the hangar, apparently in response to the alarm. Only ten men were left, two each to guard the five helicopters. Raven looked up at Emma hopefully, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Emma sighed. “Go for it.”

A mad grin curled Raven’s lips. This was nothing like the boys who had tried to hurt her and Azazel. Those were bigoted idiot bullies, nothing more. But these men - these men had tried to hurt her and her family.

They were fair game.

With unbelievable lithe agility, she launched herself over the maintenance equipment they’d been hiding behind. She barely noticed Emma and Alex following her, so lost was she in the rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins. She took down the first man to come at her easily, then fended off two more with rapid-fire spinning kicks. Two more were rendered unconscious with swift blows to their heads.

The hangar was suddenly silent. Raven straightened up, relishing in the slight ache in her muscles, the small beads of sweat snaking down her blue skin. It was good to know Erik’s tutelage had paid off. Emma, with three more guards knocked out at her feet, nodded approvingly at her. “Well done.”

Alex, who had taken care of the last two, hurried over to them. “Hang on,” he said. “We can’t go just yet. If that security breach was Mr. Lehnsherr, then we need to find him first.”

“I have a plan,” said Scott quickly. “Emma, you said you can fly one of these things?”

“Shouldn’t be too different from the Eurocopter I learned to pilot when I was younger,” Emma replied breezily.

“You’re full of surprises, Emma,” said Charles dryly.

“Indeed.”

“Take one of the choppers and fly it up to the helipad in the woods. You’ll be able to see it once you’re in the sky. It’s unguarded most of the time, and it’s out of range of the psionic blockers. We can go and look for Mr. Lehnsherr - ”

“Absolutely not!” Charles snapped. “Emma, take the children with you. I’ll find Erik and meet you - ”

“ _Bull_ shit,” snarled Raven. “We’re not letting you go back in there by yourself, Charles. Especially since this whole place is rigged up to make your powers useless. Alex and I will go with you. Emma, take Jean and Scott.”

Jean looked outraged. “But - ”

Charles silenced her with a quelling look, before he turned back to Raven, resignation on his face. “Fine,” he said. “Alex and Raven, with me. Scott and Jean, go with Emma, and do everything she tells you to. Do you understand?”

Jean and Scott remained stubbornly silent, but Charles was apparently very practiced at this game, because they both finally looked away and said, “Yes, Charles,” in identical sullen tones.

 

*

 

When Logan had said, “Leave that to me,” Erik hadn’t thought _this_ was what the man had in mind.

“He’s crazy,” he said to Moira, as Logan happily began assembling his weapon, a state-of-the-art shoulder-launched rocket-propelled grenade launcher originally designed by Stark Industries. They were mere meters away from the base’s front gates, hidden from view by a convenient dip in the landscape surrounded by banks of snow.

Moira shrugged. “Sometimes crazy is effective.”

“Once I’m inside,” said Logan, hefting the grenade launcher up into his arms, “don’t stick around. Head straight for the psionic blocker systems and disable it. Find your telepath, then we’ll rendezvous back at the plane.”

The metal was calling out to Erik, almost as if it could sense that here was someone who could command them, who could bend them to his very will. He longed to let go, to let his rage be known to those who would harm his family, but Erik waited. Logan would be their distraction. Let Stryker think that the follies of his past days were back to haunt him, and he would never imagine that yet another of his plans was well on its way to being foiled.

“Fire in the hole!” Logan hollered gleefully (and really, it was just too disturbing to use the adjective ‘gleeful’ to describe a man that eager to start ripping off limbs), and pulled the trigger.

The missile exploded from the launcher in a cloud of gray smoke, honing in on the fences. The guards were clearly not expecting an attack, and so fell prey to Logan’s claws as he rushed forward in the wake of his initial assault.

Moira grimaced as screams rent the air. “That’s our cue,” she said.

Erik smirked and held out an arm. Moira sighed and stepped forward, allowing Erik to pick her up. “I won’t bite,” he said teasingly, his arm encircling her waist.

“Shut up and fly, Lehnsherr.”

For all her bravado, Moira still couldn’t help tightening her grip as Erik rose into the air, high above the commotion ongoing below them. Erik felt vulnerable up there, with his hands occupied holding Moira in place and his mind focused on keeping them afloat. He hoped Logan was right, and that the Alkali Lake defense systems were configured towards approaching aircraft, not two levitating humans.

They made it onto the base’s roof safely, which Erik privately thought spoke volumes about Stryker’s preparedness. Surely one intruder didn’t warrant the rerouting of _all_ of Alkali Lake’s security forces?

His confusion must have been evident, because Moira shook her head and said, “There’s some very bad blood there. Stryker’s wise to take such precautions against Logan.”

“If you say so.”

With a wave of his hand, the doors leading to the roof were wrenched open. Erik was sure the second security breach would be noted, but the path of destruction Logan was carving would buy them enough time.

They hurried inside and down several corridors, Moira leading the way with the directions Logan had helpfully provided. When they finally reached the generators, Erik almost doubled over in laughter when he saw that each of the switches was helpfully labeled.

“If I ever go dark side,” he said, flipping the switch that said ‘Psionic Blockers’, “remind me not to make things so easy for the heroes who break into my evil lair.”

Moira snorted. “If you ever went dark side, Erik,” she said snippily, “I’d send Charles in to fix it.” And really, what was Erik supposed to say to that?

“Speaking of your favorite telepath,” Moira continued, smirking, “perhaps you’d like to try contacting him now?”

Erik didn’t deign to dignify that with a response. _Charles?_ he thought tentatively, wondering if the other man would even be able to hear him. Charles, he remembered, actively shielded, unlike Emma, whose mind was always open.

It seemed, however, this fear was unfounded. _Erik?!_ Charles’ voice echoed, equal parts astonished and delighted. _You’re here, you’re here, you’re really here_ \- and then there was nothing but a wave of relief, elation, and something bright and warm and gentle that reminded Erik of the sunshine back in Montauk. _I thought Stryker had psionic blockers in place? How come I can hear you?_

 _We’ve just disabled them._ _What cell are you in? We’ll come get you. How are Emma and the kids?_

 _We’re not in our cell anymore, actually,_ Charles replied, his tone turning cautious. _We - well, I did think I’d have more time to explain this to you…_ There was a little sigh. _More or less, Alex and Scott Summers were_ sort of _on Stryker’s side, but now they’re not anymore, so don’t kill them please._

Of course. Charles could charm a rabid shark into doing his bidding. _Just tell me where you are._

_The hangar. I’m with Raven and Alex. Emma, Scott, and Jean took one of the choppers. There’s a helipad apparently, not far from here._

_Okay, Moira and I will come to get you. Tell Emma to look for someone named Logan Howlett.  Ditch the chopper and find the plane we came in. Got that?_

_Got it,_ Charles replied. _Erik, it’s so good to hear your voice._ And with a last lingering mental touch, rather like fingers brushing against his cheek, Charles’ voice disappeared.

 

* * *

 

**_22\. every path you know_ **

“It’s your dad,” said Charles, turning to Raven and Alex, a big grin on his face. “He’s here with - get this - Moira. And Logan Howlett.” How on earth had his ex-girlfriend and a private school principal come to be with Erik on a rescue mission?

“Dad didn’t tell you? They’re CIA agents,” said Raven matter-of-factly.

Charles blinked. “Say again?”

“Oh, yeah, they came to get us back at your great honking mansion, and they were like, hooked up with all sorts of fancy tech and shit. Then they said they were CIA agents, and they’d been keeping an eye on us since we came over from Germany. Isn’t that so weird?”

Charles was unable to reconcile Raven-the-teenager, talking just now like a cheerleader dishing some juicy gossip, with Raven-the-living-weapon, who had taken out five grown men with her own bare hands. For the first time, he began to appreciate the conundrum Erik had. None of his children could legally walk into a bar and order a drink, and yet all of them were capable of this.

It was a sobering thought.

“So what do we now?” said Alex.

“They’re on their way here.” Charles hid a smile at how discomfited Alex suddenly looked. “He’s not going to lay a finger on you, Alex, don’t worry.”

Raven snickered. “Yeah, not unless he doesn’t want Charles to - ”

“Raven,” said Charles sternly, quickly catching her train of thought, “zip it.”

“Oh, ew,” said Alex, with feeling.

“Dear Alex,” a horribly all-too-familiar sounding voice said, “right now, Erik Lehnsherr is the least of your worries.”

Stryker stepped into view, holding out a gun. Charles had no doubt that the man could use it with lethal accuracy. “I’ll be honest,” he said, in a frighteningly calm and conversational tone, “I never expected this tactic from Lehnsherr. Weapon X is volatile, and cannot be trusted. Still, he is a devoted father who would do anything for his children.” He smiled at Alex. “As would I, even as my children betray me.”

“Scott and I aren’t your children,” Alex spat. “We never were, and we never will be.” He clenched his fists, ready to let loose one of his plasma blasts, but Stryker tutted disapprovingly.

“Temper, temper. You wouldn’t want Charles to get hurt, would you? Or your lovely little schoolmate here?”

 _I’m calling for help,_ said Charles, speaking directly into Alex and Raven’s minds. _Trust me. Alex, let me do the talking._

 _I sure hope you know what you’re doing, Prof,_ Alex replied.

Prof? Charles suppressed a smile. He rather liked the sound of that.

“Into one of the choppers, please,” said Stryker, like he was politely asking them to wipe their feet before coming inside. “I won’t ask twice.”

Charles held out his hands, discreetly pushing Raven and Alex behind him. “You don’t need the kids, Stryker. Let them go and you can take me. I won’t fight you. Just let them go.”

Stryker let out a laugh, harsh and ugly. “That’s where you’re wrong, Xavier,” he said. “I certainly don’t need my useless sons, that’s for sure, but I’m afraid I still have need of you, and Lehnsherr’s little shapeshifter.” He shrugged. “I would have preferred the other telepath, but I’ll take what I can get.” He held up his left hand, where a thin black bracelet shone at his wrist. “Don’t even think of trying anything.”

“Why are you doing this?” Charles demanded, stalling for time. _Erik, hurry!_ he thought, projecting his urgency. Stryker may have had his own psionic blocker, but he wasn’t aware that the system that protected the base was now offline. _Stryker’s here. He’s got a gun. Hurry!_

 _We’re close by._ Erik’s mental voice was tinged with fury, and with an undercurrent of fear that his mind was suppressing. _Keep him talking._

“You have no idea, do you?” said Stryker incredulously. “You have _no_ idea the threat you represent. You think you deserve the same rights as normal people? Look at yourselves - you’re _not_ normal, no matter how you try to hide. You’re a danger to society! Every moment you walk around freely is a moment where one of us might die at your hands.” There was a manic gleam in his eye, and spittle flecked his beard. “So I’m going to do something about that,” he continued, more calmly. He pointed the gun at Raven. “I have plans for you,” he said. “And you,” he added, training the gun now on Charles. “And I will _not_ be thwarted by a - ”

But what exactly Stryker would not be thwarted by, Charles never found out, because he was suddenly flung back by an invisible force. He sailed across the room, struck the wall, and crumpled to the floor, out cold.

“You’d think a man who’d just kidnapped the family of a mutant with the ability to manipulate metal would make sure there was no metal on his clothing,” said Erik disdainfully. He stood right behind where Stryker had been, too caught up in his monologuing to notice. “Stupid villains, Moira, I tell you. At this rate, you and Logan will soon be out of a job.”

Moira ignored him, instead choosing to step neatly aside. This proved to be the right decision, as Raven sprinted across the hangar and threw herself at Erik, hard. He grunted as they collided, but did not release her. For a few tender moments, they stood together, embracing, a father and daughter reunited.

“Hello, _Schazi,_ ” he said, once they’d parted. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Raven’s eyes were perfectly dry, and her voice staid and somewhat disdainful when she said, “Took you long enough. This place is gross.”

“I’m sorry, _Schazi,_ it won’t happen again,” said Erik, who looked like he was fighting off a smile. “Mr. Summers.” He turned to Alex, his face now carefully blank. Alex fidgeted, suddenly bearing a striking resemblance to a mischief-making schoolboy caught by the principal.

“Perhaps this isn’t the time, Erik?” said Charles, deliberately placing himself in front of Alex. “I think that - _mmmmmph_ \- ”

Kissing Erik now was as unlike their first two kisses as could possibly be. Those were gentle, peaceful, tender. This kiss was hard, and desperate. Erik’s fingers dug into Charles’ shoulders as he pulled him in close, his grip tightening even further as though to prevent Charles from slipping from his grasp.

 _Silly man,_ Charles thought as he closed his eyes and lost himself in the kiss. _I’m not going anywhere._

“Pay up,” said Raven to Moira.

She groaned. “Haven’t got any US currency at the moment,” she said apologetically. “Would you like Canadian dollars or would you settle for an IOU?”

“Ex _cuse_ me?” said Charles, breaking the kiss and stepping away from Erik. Raven and Moira were both smirking at them, while Alex was determinedly averting his gaze.

“We made a bet on how long it’d take you two to have a big reunion kiss,” said Moira brightly. “I figured you’d at least wait until we were out of here.” She rolled her eyes. “Charles, you slut.”

“Hey, _I_ didn’t - ” Charles cut himself off, flushing a brilliant red. “That’s neither here nor there. Let’s get out of here.”

Erik was similarly blushing, but resolutely ignored everyone. “Emma and the others?” he asked.

“Hang on.” Charles focused, reaching out for Emma’s presence. _Erik and Moira are with me. When were you going to tell me that my ex-girlfriend is a CIA agent?_

 _Well, Charles, honey, I had no idea she was your ex-girlfriend,_ Emma replied primly. _I’ve done as you said. We’ve found the plane. Scott, Jean, and I are safe._

Charles relayed this information to everyone. Raven whooped. “I don’t know about any of you,” she said, “but I am _so_ ready to get out of this dump.”

“Seconded,” said Alex.

“Hang on. What are we going to do with him.” Charles jabbed a thumb in Stryker’s direction. He was already beginning to stir. Luckily, Erik had already divested him of his weapons - including the portable psionic blocker - and there wasn’t much he could do against four mutants and an armed CIA agent.

“Why don’t we leave that to me?”

Logan Howlett stepped out from behind one of the choppers. He was covered in flecks of blood, and his metal claws were glistening red. There were bullet holes in his uniform, beneath which was only bare skin instead of bleeding wounds. There was more blood and grime smeared across his face. He looked like an animal who had finally cornered his prey.

He had eyes only for Stryker, who was slowly sitting up, rubbing at the bruise on his head.

“Weapon X,” he said, as Logan advanced on him, “you’ve come home.”

Logan sneered. “This ain’t my home,” he said. “Spent a lotta time hunting you down, bub. Gotta say, this is almost anti-climactic.”

“Logan,” said Moira warningly.

“This is the part where you turn around so you can have deniability.”

“Logan, we have orders - ”

“MacTaggert,” said Logan with a long-suffering sigh. “Look, take them back to Lewisham. The Director’s gonna want a debriefing.” He glanced at her over his shoulder and smirked. “I’ll be along soon enough.”

“ _Logan._ ”

“MacTaggert, I hate to do this, but I do outrank you.” Logan nodded at Raven and Alex. “Get these poor kids outta here. They’ve had a long day.”

As Charles watched the exchange, it occurred to him that he could simply freeze Logan. With the psionic blockers in the facility disabled, and with no blocker of his own, Logan was vulnerable. Logic and rationality dictated that Charles should intervene. Surely Stryker deserved a trial, a chance to plead his case before a court of his peers?

But there was something more between Logan and Stryker. Something life-altering, a connection of pain and anger, a debt of blood. Something that defied expectation and explanation. There were things that felt right, and things that felt wrong, and Charles trusted his judgment enough to know which was which. And while leaving Stryker with Logan did not feel right, neither did leaving the man’s punishment to someone else.

“Let’s go,” he said softly.

Erik turned to him, surprised. “Charles - ”

“Let’s go,” he repeated more firmly. “I want to go home.”

Moira looked at him for a few moments, then nodded. “I’ll come back for you,” she said to Logan. “ _Don’t. Leave._ ”

“Much obliged.”

They walked out of the hangar, leaving Stryker to whatever fate Logan had planned for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I am **_sooooooooo sorry_**. I know I've practically disappeared off the face of the earth, and that this update was _two months_ in the making. I've got a couple of excuses and they're more or less good ones this time!
> 
> 1) Work. 'Nuff said. Goddamn but is adulting the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life. I'm living vicariously through Charles because, like him, I'm a grad student with a job, but my time management is nowhere near as good as his. ~~Well maybe if you stopped devoting your free time to fangirling....~~
> 
> 2) I've also been working on a personal blog! I've been traveling a lot quite a bit, both for work and leisure, so I thought I'd start a blog on that, as well as basically my millennial experiences (lol). If ~~you're not sick of my self-absorption yet~~ you'd like to check it out, you can find it [here](http://bequietkate.wordpress.com). If you've got a personal/non-Tumblr blog of your own, leave a comment and I'll be happy to check it out!
> 
> I'd also like to apologize if the chapter doesn't seem up to snuff. Guys, I am _terrible_ at writing action scenes. God this is why I write mainly fluff and angst =.= 
> 
> Last chapter coming up soon! See you around, BBs ♥☻


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